


Worlds Collide

by thesnarkysprocket



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Croatoan/Endverse, F/M, M/M, Only briefly Endverse, Supernatural season one, Time Travel, Time Travel Fix-It
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-01
Updated: 2017-08-03
Packaged: 2018-07-19 08:05:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 24,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7352806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesnarkysprocket/pseuds/thesnarkysprocket
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As an angel, Cas saw time and again that it is impossible to go back in time to alter fate.  He knew this as an immutable fact, right up until he found the loophole—to send the mind of the present back to merge with the body of the past.  It took a lot of creativity, psychotropics, and a willingness to die, but Cas found a way to send himself and Dean back to 2005 for a chance at averting the apocalypse.  Once there (then?) they discover that the hard part isn't going to be changing things, it's going to be adjusting to living in a world not being destroyed by the apocalypse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a work in progress. I always said that I wouldn't post an incomplete story, but all that's done is lead me to never posting anything. I'm very good at convincing myself that what I write isn't worth reading or finishing. If I have any sort of readership (even just one person enjoying the story would be enough for me) I'll keep writing as I have a pathological need to not disappoint. So far, I've got a few thousand words written, so my goal is to keep up with a once a week posting schedule. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Cas was uncharacteristically solemn as he drew the chalk outline on the floor of his cabin. It reminded Dean uncomfortably of the Castiel, angel of the lord, he had met back in that abandoned barn. “Are we really going to do this, Cas? I mean, can we really abandon everyone here to the apocalypse?”

“We’ve been through this, Dean. We are not abandoning anyone—we’re saving them.” But Cas said it without the confidence of real belief. They had gone back and forth on this for weeks now. Each of them taking turns arguing each side as their conviction wavered. 

In the end, Dean just couldn’t stand by and watch the world destroy itself any more. He couldn’t lose one more person to croatoan. He couldn’t handle one more false lead on the colt. And, most of all, he was pretty sure that, if he did manage to get his hands on the colt, what he would have to do next would break him. Killing Lucifer meant coming face-to-face with his brother, or his brother’s body anyway. If he succeeded, Sam would be dead. If he failed, Lucifer would continue to walk around in Sam’s body. Even if, by some miracle, Dean physically survived the encounter, he would never come back from that mission. 

As for Cas, he agreed in part because, as far as he could tell, the world as it was was a lost cause; even if Lucifer was killed or suddenly left it would never recover. Mostly, though, he just knew that this was the only chance he had to save Dean, and Dean was the only thing he really cared about anymore. In the beginning, he had cared about his mission. He had been full of righteous purpose and belief that he and Dean would save the world. Slowly though, that confidence in their eventual success had dwindled away. He had persevered through his gradual fall into (sort of) humanity, through the abandonment of the host, even through that summer Chitaqua had had to resort to using latrines before a new recruit arrived who understood the intricacies of pipes and septic systems. What finally broke him was the realization that Dean had given up. He saw it in Dean's eyes one day during a rare moment of sober lucidity—Dean no longer held out any hope for getting out of this intact. It was that moment that Cas lost the last of the hope he had squirreled away in his heart. He had long ago given up on himself and any possibility of a future in which he was anywhere near happy, but up until that moment he had still maintained just that small scrap of hope for Dean. And if Dean had been able to escape the apocalypse even partially intact, Cas could have lived with that. But you can't save someone who no longer wants to be saved. 

Dean met Cas' eyes, and, just for a moment, Cas thought he was going to back out after all. Instead, Dean gave a short, sharp nod and went back to gathering the other materials they would need for the spell Cas had found in one of Bobby's old books. 

He had almost kept flipping pages right on past it, but something had made him stop and reconsider. True, the world was going to end bloody—this world, in this time, during this apocalypse. But, what if they could change things so that this world never came to be? There was a chance that the new world wouldn't be quite so hell-bent on hurtling itself over the edge of the cliff of the apocalypse. 

And, while it is true that it is impossible to go back in time and change fate from the outside (Cas, while still an angel and a part of the host, had taught Dean that very lesson after all), it just might be possible to go back and change it from the inside. Cas attributes the fact that he even entertained the idea of somehow sending them back in spirit to merge with their past selves to the fact that at the moment he stumbled upon this spell the massive (truly massive) dose of shrooms he had taken about 20 minutes earlier had just begun to kick in. 

When he woke up about 12 hours later, he found that he had somehow maintained enough coherent thought to jot down the notes he needed to recreate his epiphany in his newly sober (mostly, pot doesn't really count after all) state. And, much to his shock, the spell would work. With a few (a lot of) alterations. Maybe. Or, they could just both implode and possibly open a black hole in the middle of Chitaqua that would, at minimum, destroy a third of the state. But, as Cas explained to Dean, there is really only about a 16.869% chance of that occurring.

As Dean gets everything ready, Cas finishes the altered sigil they have to sit within for the spell to work. That was the really tricky part. The original spell would have temporarily sent their minds to the past, but because of the temporal incongruity between their current minds and their past physicality (or lackthereof in Cas' case) their minds would have been thrown back into the present in under 10 minutes. What Cas had done was incorporate another spell meant to (again temporarily) send someone into the past physically and convince their present mind and soul (or whatever it was Cas now had, he still wasn't quite sure) to merge with their past physical selves. It took Cas a bit to figure out how to make sure that he wouldn't somehow end up merged with Jimmy Novak instead of Castiel (let's just say there were quite a few more psychotropic substances involved in that particular breakthrough). 

"Okay, I know we've been over this, but when we arrive back, it's going to be rough. It's going to take a couple of days to physically get our bearings back. You are going to be shoved back into your 26 year old body." Dean grinned slightly at that, but only slightly. The apocalypse isn't really conducive to the kind of enjoyment that results in grins. Cas just shot him a glare. "This is important. You're not going to be up for running out to kill Azazel or anything right away. In fact, that is not going to work at all, even once you get control over your body." 

"Cas, like you said, we've been over this. I know that we have to be a bit more subtle about all of this. Don't worry. Not about that, anyway." 

"Right. Anyway. Also, remember that I probably won't be there when you arrive. It's going to take quite a bit more for the spell to merge me with my past self."

"Yeah, yeah. Let's just do it. At least if we die or destroy the planet we won't have to sit around and watch the apocalypse without being able to do anything about it anymore."

With that optimistic pronouncement, Cas and Dean sat in the circle with the bowl of spell ingredients between them. Cas looked at Dean one more time, as if memorizing the moment before reciting the surprisingly short incantation and tossing a lit match into the bowl. For a moment, nothing happened and they just continued to stare at each other. Then, with a brilliant white flash of power, they were gone.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning: I'm of the opinion that the most realistic episode of Supernatural ever aired was "Ghostfacers" because there is no way that Sam and Dean (especially Dean) don't go around swearing like sailors. Therefore, you are forewarned that there is 'adult' language in this chapter and probably in every chapter henceforth. 
> 
> Thank you so much for all of the comments and kudos! I never dreamed so many people would actually read, much less enjoy, this story. Hopefully this next installment meets expectations. 
> 
> Enjoy!

As Dean woke up, he wondered what the hell he had been up to yesterday. He didn’t so much hurt, he just felt sort of squeezed all over. Like his skin was a size too small. And his head was pounding. He probably had a concussion. Again. That would explain why he couldn’t remember anything about the mission on which he apparently got the concussion. After a minute he risked opening his eyes. Too bright. Way too bright. Wait. Why is it so bright? Concussion or not, someone should have woken him up by now. 

Suddenly it all came rushing back to him. The spell. The blinding white light. Cas. Dean bolted upright, and then immediately regretted the action. His vision swam, the pounding in his skull increased to the point he was fairly certain he could actually hear it, and his vision decided going blurry wasn't quite enough and started to darken around the edges as well. 

“Okay, bad idea. Very bad idea,” Dean muttered to himself as he gently eased himself back into a prone position and shut his eyes. He wondered if the spell had worked. He could already tell he wasn’t in his cabin at Chitaqua—this bed was way too large to be his twin bunk, and seemed to have a mattress with springs (springs that were poking him in the small of his back at the moment) instead of the plastic covered pad that had come with his bunk bed frame. That didn’t really tell him much though. 

He could be in Cas’ cabin. Once Cas had started ‘banging his gong,’ he had found a real mattress somewhere and installed it in his cabin. Dean really hoped he wasn’t in Cas’ cabin. Not only would that mean the spell had failed and he was still in 2014, he didn’t even want to consider all the fluids that were on Cas’ mattress. That’s why Dean had always insisted on his cabin back before he and Cas had stopped their own activities even though the floor was hard on his knees. 

Dean forcefully stopped that train of thought. He and Cas had worked together to pretty thoroughly burn that bridge. Speaking of Cas, where was he? Dean decided it was worth risking sitting up again to find out what was going on—just much more slowly and carefully this time. 

After slowly leveraging himself up so that he could lean back against the wall, Dean slit his eyes open to test their tolerance of the light. It wasn’t as bad this time, but he still took it slowly. Finally, after a minute or so, he was able to look around and take in his surroundings. “Well. That’s different.” 

Cats. Everywhere, cats. Images of cats cavorting on the lamp shades. Cat figurines staring at him from shelves. Even the pillows he was leaning against were shaped like cats. So, unless Cas had snuck out of the camp at some point to acquire the ugliest cat painting Dean has ever seen in his life (seriously, the thing looked like a 7-year-old who had never seen a real, live cat had painted it off of the description given by another 7-year-old. What the hell?), the spell had worked. 

"What the hell?" Dean muttered. Then—"What the hell?" Dean stated more forcefully. What was wrong with his voice? Dear god, had he ever really sounded that young? His voice must have dropped at least three octaves since he was 26. This was going to take some getting used to. 

Speaking of things that have changed—Dean looked down at his hands. His fingers were still bent and crooked from breaks, but they were bent and crooked in ways completely different from what he was used too. He had forgotten how much Cas had healed when he resurrected him. Which reminded him—Dean pushed up his left sleeve and found clear, unblemished skin. Cas' handprint was completely gone. 

Now that his head had decided to stop pounding quite so much, Dean decided that this deserved a more thorough investigation. He gingerly stood up, and when his body didn't decide to revolt through unconsciousness, he walked to the bathroom. 

He flipped on the light, turned to the mirror, and just stopped. He couldn't even think for a moment, much less move. Knowing that he was going to be transported back to his body from a decade ago and actually seeing it were two very different things. He had thought he was prepared, but he really, really wasn't. Even the realizations he had made while still recovering on the bed hadn't prepared him to see himself in the mirror. He was 26 fucking years old. He remembered being 26, the first time, and getting annoyed when someone would call him kid or boy—he was an adult, damn it—but he had been wrong. He was a fucking kid. How had anyone ever taken him seriously when he was this young? 

Dean stood in the (cat themed—seriously, even the toilet lid was shaped like a goddamn cat face; even by his standards, this motel was just bizarre) bathroom and stared at his face for a solid ten minutes. The crow's feet around his eyes were gone. The frown lines were replaced by barely there laugh lines—he had forgotten there was a version of him that laughed more than he frowned. His eyes didn't even have the permanent dark circles etched around them. 

But his eyes. That was what convinced him this was real—that he had traveled back from the apocalypse to 2005. Everything else was younger, less scarred. But his eyes. His eyes still reflected him. Looking into them he could still see hell. He could still see the last glimpse he had had of Sam's retreating back. He could still see the apocalypse. 

Dean shook his head and forced himself to break away from his own gaze in the mirror. As he did so, he caught a glimpse of the shower curtain (that was covered in cats that would stare at him unnervingly when he was undressed) and realized what else being in 2005 meant besides the opportunity to avoid the fucked up future he had come from—hot water. 

Dean hadn't had a properly hot shower in months. So, he striped down, turned the taps all the way to scalding, and settled in for a long, hot shower. The hot water helped to loosen up his muscles and make him feel more at home in his new (old? younger?) body. The tightness he had been feeling since he woke up gradually dissipated. 

After 30 minutes (shut up—months since his last hot shower), he got out and started getting dressed when he suddenly realized what he had picked up from the sink. In his focus on the prospect of a shower with actual hot water he had hadn't even noticed taking it off. The amulet. When Cas had finally given up on his search for God and tried to give it back, Dean had told him to get rid of it. By that point Sam had already said yes and Dean couldn't even bear to look at such a visceral connection to his brother, much less have it resting over his heart day in and day out. After standing and just staring at it, he made a decision. If he was going to truly change things, that included his relationship with his brother, and wearing the amulet again would be a reminder for himself of just that. He couldn't push Sam away again. Sure, the end goal was go get Sam that apple-pie life he always dreamed of, but that didn't mean he couldn't still have a relationship with his brother. With that in mind, he purposefully put the cord around his neck. He then realized that he was just standing in the bathroom, naked. He had been right. Those cats on the shower curtain were fucking unnerving in their unblinking stares. 

After getting dressed, he went back into the main room and looked around for his duffel. Once he found it, he dug around for a bit to see what sort of weapons he had on him. 26 year old him was damn lucky he had survived to 27. Good god. One gun, a hunting knife, and a container of rock salt. That's all he had on him. Sure, 2005 wasn't the apocalypse, but still. He didn't even have an extra clip for the gun! He was going to have to rectify that. After sleep. God, was he tired. This whole merging two versions of yourself into one really took it out of a guy.

Dean grabbed the gun and the knife and went back to the bed he had woken up on. He slipped the knife under the mattress but still within easy reach, and the gun under his pillow. He figured he probably had another day or so until Cas showed, so he might as well get some rest so they could get to work once they were together. With that, Dean laid down on top of the comforter (covered in too many cats to count—once Cas arrived they were getting a different room), and slipped into a shallow sleep almost immediately—you never knew when or for how long you'd get to sleep in the apocalypse, so Dean had long ago mastered the art of grabbing rest when you could. He just hoped Cas appeared by the time he woke up.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay posting this chapter, but I was busy attending Pittcon and receiving a hug from Misha Collins! I'm still a bit in shock that that actually happened. 
> 
> Also, thank you again for your wonderful comments! I'm flabbergasted (and thrilled!) at how much some of you seem to love this so far. I hope that this newest installment meets expectations :)
> 
> Enjoy!

When Dean woke up, the first thing he did (after a moment of confusion before he remembered where (and when) he was) was look around for Cas, but he was still alone with all those freaking cats. He told himself it was fine. Way too early to start panicking. Cas had said it would take a while longer for him to merge with his younger self than it would Dean, and Dean had only been in 2005 for, what? Eight hours? Something like that. Speaking of which, Dean went back to his duffle and dug around again until he found what he was looking for. 

He flipped the cell phone open and looked at the date. It was 1:00 am, October 20th—Thursday. That meant that he still had just over a week until the demon came for Jess, a bit more time than they had thought they’d have, but that was good. Maybe they could convince Sam and Jess to get away from Stanford long before the demon even noticed they were there. That is if Cas would hurry his ass up and appear already. 

Well, he wasn’t just going sit here and twiddle his thumbs waiting for Cas. He’d lose what little sanity he had left if he just sat in the motel until Cas appeared. Besides, he needed to go out to at least find something to eat. Suddenly, Dean realized that diners were still a thing in 2005. He didn’t have to rely on whatever mystery meat the mess was serving or expired canned goods. He could go and get a burger. And pie. His stomach voiced its enthusiasm for that idea by emitting a loud rumble.

Dean scribbled out a note for Cas in case he appeared while Dean was out, grabbed his keys and weapons, and left the room. Once he was outside, he stopped and just stared for a moment. Everything was so bright. Between the street lights and the headlights from the occasional car passing by, the parking lot was lit up like a beacon. Dean felt incredibly exposed. And incredibly under-armed. He really needed to remedy at least the second part of that immediately. The weapons would be in the trunk of the Impala…

There she was. Just sitting there—intact and shining. The last time Dean had seen the Impala, she had been a rusted mess with rotting tires, three of her four doors missing, and a family of rodents living in the dash. He reverently stroked his hand across the hood. Huh. He had really thought he had resigned himself to leaving her to rot—there were more important things than a car during the apocalypse, after all. Not to mention, that once Sam left she had just seemed empty somehow. And then, when Dean got confirmation that his brother had said yes to the devil, she had been a painful reminder of what had been. 

Dean mentally shook himself. Yeah, it was a great car, and it meant a lot to him at one point. But, it was just a car, and, apocalypse or no, he had more important things to focus on. Maybe eventually he'd actually convince himself that was true. It was a lot harder to deny the Impala's hold on him when it was sitting in front of him waxed and in perfect working order. No. It is a tool to get from point A (this hotel) to point B (Sam saved and the apocalypse averted—you know, nothing big) while also providing a handy place to store the weapons and other supplies he'd need along the way. 

Speaking of which. Dean walked back to the trunk (totally not gently caressing the Impala as he turned the key) and opened it. It was just as he remembered it, with a few things missing he would be adding at the first opportunity. First thing's first though—he dug around until he found the small leather pouch with several amulets inside and took one out to slip over his head. The anti-possession charm, while not ideal, would have to do until he could get to a tattoo parlor. Next, he got a knife sheath and strapped it to his ankle before slipping the knife he had found in his duffle into it. He reluctantly admitted to himself that he couldn't really wander around in pre-apocalypse 2005 with a shotgun (or an assault rifle, but he didn't even have one of those in the trunk so that was a moot point), so he left that in the trunk when he slammed it shut and circled back to the driver's door. 

He tried to ignore the shiver of anticipation that traveled up his spine as he slid the key into the ignition and turned it. Despite his earlier assertion to himself about how much the Impala didn't matter other than practically, the roar of the engine and the feel of the steering wheel in his hands felt like coming home. He allowed himself a moment of indulgence to savor the feeling before ripping himself back to the present and the immediate task of acquiring food and the much larger task of putting one over on Fate. 

With that, Dean roared out of the motel parking lot and onto the road. He didn't really remember this town much except that he thought he had done a fairly routine salt n' burn at an old farm here in 2005. He was pretty sure the job was already completed by this point and he had just been hanging out waiting to hear from Dad until he realized something was up and went to get Sammy and set the whole apocalyptic future into motion. That said, he was pretty sure he remembered a diner around here that had pretty good apple pie. 

It took about half an hour of driving around to find, but he finally did. He was just glad it was so late that the roads were all but deserted. He really didn't think he was up dealing with traffic at the moment. Once he did find the diner (BJ's Diner—yeah, now he remembered this place more clearly) he parked and headed in with pie on his mind. 

When he opened the door to the diner, Dean froze. It was about two am by that point, but there was a good crowd in the diner for the time. He could see one waitress behind the counter, a guy who probably drove the 18-wheeler in the lot, a couple in their early 20s who had clearly come here after a night out, and a guy who looked like he was about to fall asleep with his nose in his coffee. Five people, six if you counted the cook that he couldn’t see but knew was in the back. Dean hadn’t seen so many strangers all in one place who were not insane killing machines in so long that he didn’t know how to react. 

When the waitress gave him a funny look, he realized that he had been standing in the doorway for the last 30 seconds just staring at everyone with his hand twitching to reach back for his gun. He forced himself to flash her a casual smile (if her expression was anything to go by, he didn’t quite reach casual—the best he could hope for was nervous, but he was willing to bet he fell solidly in the paranoid and slightly unhinged category), and quickly sat in the closest booth. 

As he sat waiting for her to bring over the menu, he was very aware of the other people and what they were doing. His right hand kept clenching and unclenching as if around the handle of the knife that was still strapped to his ankle. His eyes kept darting from person to person. His entire body was tensed up and ready for fight or flight, he honestly wasn’t sure which. When the waitress finally brought over the menu he flinched back as she tried to hand it to him. She was taken aback for a moment before just putting the menu down in front of him.

“What can I get you to drink, then?” she asked with just a bit of bite to her voice that said she had noticed the slight and had in fact taken offense. 

Dean just stared for a moment, unsure of what she was even asking him—his mind still fully engaged with assessing the threat that was not present in this diner in 2005. When he was finally able to focus, he could see that she was getting fed up with the sketchy guy who had wandered into her diner at two in the morning. Deciding that he was just as fed up with the insanity that was this whole situation, Dean gave up on the idea of enjoying his first visit to a diner in five years.

“You know what, no drink. I’ll just have a bacon cheese burger and fries. To go. And a slice of apple pie. As quick as possible.” When it looked like she was going to give a response other than ‘That’ll be right out,’ Dean stared her down with every ounce of his apocalyptic experience behind his eyes. 

“Yeah… Sure thing.” She gave him an uneasy glance over her shoulder as she walked back to the kitchen to put in his order. 

His order was out in record time, and he thought it probably had more to do with the waitress really wanting him out of her diner than with excellent customer service, but he wasn't going to complain as long as he got his food and could leave quickly. Without even looking at the check, he tossed down a $20 and got the hell out of there. 

He didn't breathe again until he was back in the Impala (damn sentiment—it's just a car for fuck's sake! Yeah, he could tell that wasn't going to work). He immediately threw it into gear and burned rubber out of there. 

Ten minutes later he was finally back in the motel room with all those cats. At least now he had pie even if he did have to venture out and interact with crazy people who didn't seem to care that there was someone in their blind spot or that the only thing they had on their person that even remotely resembled a weapon was a steak knife. He was definitely staying in the room until Cas finally made it here. 

With that decided, he propped the shotgun he had liberated from the trunk (with real rounds, none of that salt shit) against the table next to him and dug into his pie. If he didn't know what the place was actually like, he'd call the pie heavenly. This might just be worth that hellacious trip to the diner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> P.S. If you'd like to check me out on tumblr I'm thesnarkysprocket. I mostly just reblog stuff I like, but sometimes I write up other little things, and in the near future I'll be posting some photos and videos I have from Pittcon :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so the only editing this story is getting is from me, so if anyone spots a typo or other error, please feel free to let me know. I'm open to constructive criticism. Every time I post a chapter I go back and almost immediately spot at least one error that needs corrected, haha. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Four days. Four. Fucking. Days. And Cas still hadn’t shown up. Sure, Dean had known that it was going to take longer for Cas to arrive, but four days?! Cas had said that it would probably be two, maybe. For the first two days, Dean had waited patiently—sort of. 

He occupied himself with the tv for a bit, but quickly realized that he had lost his taste for inane daytime television at some point while fighting for the survival of humanity (although after sitting through an episode of Jerry Springer he’s really wondering why he expended so much effort on that endeavor). He then inventoried every weapon and supply that was in the trunk of the Impala. Mostly to be prepared, but also out of morbid curiosity at just how stupidly unprepared he had been at 26. The answer? He should never have survived to start the apocalypse much less end it. The list of things he needed to add to the arsenal was longer than the list of what was currently in it. 

By the time he was done with that, he was well into the second day and had nothing to keep his mind from endlessly circling back to wondering at what point he should start worrying that Cas just wasn’t going to make it. Other than a trip down the street to the liquor store to stock up on whiskey and a quick stop at the vending machine for food, Dean hadn't left the room since the disastrous diner visit. 

In short, Dean had been climbing the walls for the last two days. He was actually pretty shocked that he hadn’t managed to wear a visible trail in the awful puke colored (and he was trying really hard not to acknowledge that the color did not seem to be original) carpeting from all his pacing.

He was in the middle of his umpteen millionth lap of the motel room when he suddenly ran into something solid. He stared with his mouth open in shock as Cas stumbled back just slightly from the collision.

“I knew you’d be annoyed by the wait, but really, Dean? Is it necessary to get physical? Although, there are certain aspects of our relationship I remember as being rather physical and enjoyable. If you’re this eager, we could always start those up again…” Cas said in that infuriatingly deadpan way he had that made it impossible to tell if he was mocking the shit out of you or was serious. 

Dean just stared at Cas for a moment with his mouth open (he seemed to be doing that a lot since he came back to 2005—he really needed to get a handle on that), unsure if Cas had actually finally showed or if he had just lost it and was experiencing a particularly vivid, and solid, hallucination. After that moment, he decided that he really didn’t care—any Cas would do at the moment to vent his frustrations (and, okay, maybe just a bit of worry) on. 

“Four. Fucking. Days. I got here four days ago, Cas. Excuse me if I’m a bit tense from spending four days contemplating the possibility that the only guy who actually knows me now was dead, and I was alone in the past where nothing makes any, fucking, sense!” Dean started out deadly calm, but by the end of his diatribe he was shouting so loudly he was honestly surprised no one started banging on the walls. 

“Oh. I guess I shouldn’t have taken that side trip then. Though, in fairness, that merge was a bitch, and I really needed something to help with the recovery.” Cas said all this with a contemplative look on his face as if Dean slowly losing his mind was interesting instead of horrible. Also, now that Dean looked a bit more closely, Cas’ pupils looked distinctly dilated and his responses were just a bit delayed as if he had to take a moment to choose every word individually.

“You did not leave me here thinking you were dead while you went off to find drugs!?!” Dean shouted in incredulous outrage. Although, this was Cas, so he shouldn’t have been so surprised. The pacing started up again, but now instead of using up nervous energy it was using up energy that REALLY wanted to be redirected into punching Cas in the face. That would be a waste of effort though; he was probably so high he wouldn’t even feel it. Bastard. 

“To be fair, it only took an extra hour or so once I realized I had my wings again. Plus, I brought enough to share.” Cas held out an orange prescription bottle, sans prescription label, and shook it enticingly in Dean’s direction. 

Dean snatched the bottle out of Cas’ hand and looked at it. “Did you knock over a fucking Walgreens?! My god, Cas. This isn’t the apocalypse anymore! You can’t just run around looting drug stores to support your drug habit! There are still laws against that and people to enforce them in 2005! You’re going to get arrested! More importantly, you’re going to get me arrested! Please tell me you were smart enough to at least do this in a different state before you flew… here…” Dean’s voice dropped off as what he just said penetrated his brain through the fog of rage. 

He quickly rewound the last five minutes and reviewed them. Yup, Cas had definitely just appeared in the room. He didn’t use the door. He flew. Cas even said he got his wings back. Sure, he buried that revelation in the fact that he had robbed a fucking Walgreens, but Dean probably still should have recognized it for the incredible piece of information that it was as soon as Cas said it. 

While Dean was having a mind-blowing realization, Cas had just continued on with the conversation as if Dean hadn’t been visibly checked out for the last 30 seconds or so, “…think of me. My human skills might not always be great, but even I know you don’t just walk into a major chain store and hold them at gun point while demanding drugs. Obviously I waited until the store was closed before I engaged in grand larceny.”

“Whatever. Go back to the part where you said you got your wings back. What? How? Did you get the rest of your mojo back? Holy shit, if you’re a fully charged angel again this is going to be so much easier!”

For a beat Cas just stared at Dean, clearly processing what he had said. “Whoa, whoa. Slow down. You’re making my head spin. More than it already was. Yes, I got my wings back. If you can’t figure out that it has something to do with the spell, then we might need to make sure that the spell didn’t damage your intellectual capabilities,” Cas said this with that obnoxious head tilt of his. “No, I’m not fully charged. I don’t know if that will change, but I suspect not.”

“No shit it’s because of the spell and the merger, Cas. What I mean is how did the spell do that? I thought you were just gonna absorb your past self’s memories and take his place like I did. Not that you’d somehow transform into, what? A half-assed angel? What does it even mean that you can fly but you’re not fully charged?”

“First of all, rude. I’m fully assed, as you well know.” Cas said this with a lascivious smirk and a twirl to prove the truth of the statement.

“Cas!” Dean just glared, in no mood after the last four days for Cas being Cas. 

“Fine, fine, whatever. Right, straight to the point and all business.” Cas adopted a stiff, angelic posture and fixed Dean with a penetrating stare.

“Cas,” Dean ground out, “if you don’t stop fucking around and explain what the hell is going on I’m going to shoot you in the kneecap and assume that your mostly-but-not-fully charged mojo can heal you.”

Cas continued to stare at Dean for a moment before seemingly deciding that he was serious in his threat and relaxing his posture. “Spoil-sport. Alright, now, keep in mind that I haven’t had a chance to test all this completely yet. Before we cast the spell I had assumed that because 2005-Castiel didn’t have a vessel mine would just be transported back so that my trueform from both time periods could merge and have somewhere to reside as I also assumed that when my ability to contain grace had been burned out by the angels leaving it had made it so that even with the merge I wouldn’t be able to hold the grace of 2005-Castiel. Clearly I was wrong—to a point.

“As far as I can tell, the spell somehow created this vessel from scratch and gave it the ability to hold grace. If I was in possession of my undamaged grace from 2005 I think this vessel would hold it just fine. However, the spell was not a replacement, but a merger, so the damage done to my trueform when the angels left remains to an extent.

“Side note: the same goes for you—you from 2014 did not replace you from 2005. Those two versions of you merged together. True, you retained all your memories and experiences from 2014-you, but you also regained some of the personality quirks from 2005-you that you lost through those experiences. That’s probably why you’re so antsy, by the way.” 

“I’m not ‘antsy’,” Dean snapped while still pacing back and forth across the motel room. Cas gave him a pointed look but wisely didn’t say anything further on the subject. 

“As I said, I’d have to test this, but I believe that while I have regained my ability to heal myself from certain wounds, I cannot heal others. Also, I am by no means invulnerable. Nor did I regain my full, angelic tolerance for intoxicating substances, thank god. Can you imagine how much valium I’d have to take to relax if I had?” Dean’s only response was to glare, and after a moment Cas continued.

“As you’ve already seen, I do have my wings back, but they’re damaged. My ability to fly is limited to a few miles, and it’s incredibly exhausting to do it more than a couple of times in a row. Speaking of which, I need to crash. But, first…” Cas looked around the room until he caught sight of Dean’s stash of whiskey. He grabbed a bottle and started drinking. 

“I knew I could count on you to have your priorities in order,” Cas grinned. After he downed a good ¾ of the bottle he set it on the bedside table and flopped down on the bed without even taking off his boots. 

“Wait a minute! We are not done talking here, Cas!” Dean shouted, but quickly realized it was a lost cause—between the pills, booze, and flying Cas was out. And Dean knew from experience that when he got like this not even the literal apocalypse could wake him. With nothing else to do, but a huge weight off his shoulders now that Cas had finally reappeared, Dean settled in with his own bottle to think about their next move before he fell asleep himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From this point forward, there will be some switching back and forth of POVs, I'll try to make it clear who is speaking, but just an FYI. Hopefully with more practice I'll be able to write in Endverse/Cas' voice more accurately. Bear with me :)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so incredibly sorry for the extended delay on this chapter. Several bouts of writer's block and life events (both good and bad) all worked together to create the delay. 
> 
> I hope it was worth the wait. Enjoy!

“Gahgraaah!” Dean came to slowly with a drawn out groan of discomfort. It turns out that falling asleep…fine, passing out, after consuming the better part of a fifth of whiskey while sitting upright in an uncomfortable motel chair is no better for his neck at 26 than it was at 36. He blearily blinked his eyes as the events of the previous evening came back to him, and then he was suddenly wide awake and jumping up to look around the room, stiff neck be damned. Cas is conspicuously absent. For a moment Dean thinks maybe he really did lose it, and the whole scenario with Cas the night before had been a particularly vivid and infuriating hallucination. But then he noticed the empty bottle of whiskey sitting next to the bed that he knows was full last night. And, sure, he’s forgotten just how much he drank the night before in the past, but if he had consumed two full bottles of whiskey on his own he wouldn’t have woken up with a sore neck—he wouldn’t have woken up at all. So Cas had really appeared in the room using angel powers neither of them had thought he would ever have again, admitted to grand larceny, gotten simultaneously drunk and high, and then passed out before, apparently, disappearing at some point in the night. What the fuck? 

Dean puttered around the room for a bit, but finally decided he’d had enough of hanging around this cat infested room, gathered up his stuff, and checked out. He was just loading up the trunk and telling himself that if Cas really did have at least a part of his angel mojo back then he should have no trouble finding Dean even if he switched motels, when who should come strolling around the corner but Cas. 

“Where the fuck did you pop off to? I would have thought you had enough drugs to tide you over for a couple of days. Wasn’t there talk of laying off at least the really hard stuff if this worked? Seriously, dude, I woke up this morning and for a moment I thought I had imagined you! So, I repeat—what, the, fuck?”

“Whoa.” Cas abruptly stopped and put his hands up in a placating manner. “In my defense I thought you’d be out until at least noon with all the whiskey you drank last night. How was I supposed to know you’d decide to pull a Dean Winchester and wake up after only four hours and immediately check out of the motel? Actually, maybe I should be the angry party here since you seem to be in the process of ditching me while I was out acquiring supplies that will benefit us both.” Cas gave him a pointed look. 

“How were… Dude! You just called what I did a ‘Dean Winchester’! That might be your first clue that I’d react like that! And I wasn’t ditching you. You’ve got your angel mojo back, to a degree. I just figured you could find me where ever I ended up.” Dean’s voice sort of dropped off at the end, indicating how not sure he was of the statement’s truth. “Anyway, you’re the one who left without a note to indicate where you’d gone or even when you’d be back….” Dean lost the train of his tirade as something suddenly caught his eye on Cas’ shoulder. “What. The. Fuck. Do you have on your back?” Dean’s eyes bored into Cas, who seemed wholly unconcerned. 

“Like I said, I went out for supplies. Did you know 26 year-old you’s arsenal doesn’t even include an assault rifle?! Or, at least it didn’t.” Cas said this last with a smug smile as he swung the AK-47 he had hanging by a shoulder strap across his back up into his arms. 

“Put that away! Are you insane?! Don’t answer that.”

“Am I insane? Are you insane?! You’ve been waltzing around without proper protection now for days! You had an excuse the first time around—you didn’t know how bad things could get. Now, though, you know just how evil the evil out there is. Fine. If you don’t want to be properly armed, I supposed that’s your prerogative, but I’m keeping at least one rifle for me.”

It was only as Cas said this that Dean realized that he had not one, but two assault rifles slung across his back. They were definitely going to get arrested before they made it to Stanford. The only real question was whether it would be for possession of illegal weapons or disturbing the peace since they couldn’t seem to be together for more than a few moments without shouting at one another.

Cas pinned Dean with a piercing stare. “You know what? If you end up dead, it won’t be my fault. Let’s just go.” He gestured toward the office window. “I’m pretty sure the desk clerk just called the cops.” Cas says this while digging in his pockets until he finds the orange bottle he was apparently searching for. 

Or it could always be the drugs that get them locked up, Dean thought sardonically as he watched Cas down what seems like half a bottle of mysterious pills. He didn’t bother to answer Cas, just glared for a moment before walking around the Impala and getting in the driver’s seat. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

For a moment, Cas stared mournfully at Dean as he sat in the Impala. Apparently traveling a decade back in time hadn’t cured Dean of his assholery. Cas sighed. He had been hopeful that the merger would have let 2005-Dean at least dull that particular personality trait. Sure, Dean had always been an asshole, but the apocalypse had really amplified it—even moreso than Hell. Cas supposed he should have known better, afterall, he is the one who designed the spell to allow himself and Dean to keep their memories of the apocalypse. While they both gained a bit of their past back, it was always going to be the apocalypse version that had primary expression. Maybe once things start going their way and the apocalypse became truly a memory instead of an inevitability they are slowing marching towards Dean will mellow out a bit. So, only a few years before he’d be tolerable again. Great. He punctuated that thought by slamming the trunk shut after stowing the rifles inside. He had decided that he’d just have to make do with the weapons he could conceal on his person until Dean came to his senses.

Cas popped a few more valium and slid into the passenger seat of the Impala. Even after so many years without his wings, he still wasn’t comfortable with car travel—it’s just so, confining. Now that he could fly again it was even worse. Sure, there’s no way he could make it all the way to Jericho without exhausting himself, even if he took it in stages, but just the knowledge that he could be flying instead of sitting is maddening. And the tense atmosphere in the car isn’t helping. At least once the pills kick in he’ll relax enough to enjoy the fact that the vehicle he’s confined in is the Impala. He might not have the history Dean does with the car, but he still has his own connection with the vehicle. It was his first home after he fell from Heaven’s grace. 

Cas and Dean rode in silence for half an hour or so (other than the rock music blasting from the stereo, that is). Finally, Cas felt the valium work its magic as his entire body relaxed and he was able to breathe again despite the confined quarters. As he started to relax, Cas noticed the music coming from the stereo and realized it was “Highway to Hell.” 

Cas could remember riding down the highway with the windows down as Dean sang along to the song, trying to get Cas to join him. It was a fitting song—at that time Cas was in the process of falling. When he finally gave in and started singing, it was the first time he had truly let loose. It was the next day, actually, that he had woken up (still a weird process then, hell, still a weird process now), and, instead of putting on his angelic uniform of suit and trench coat, he had stolen a pair of jeans and a t-shirt from Dean’s duffle. 

He was just starting to ride a comforting wave of numbness and nostalgia fueled by valium and music when Dean broke through to pointedly say, “Can we talk about the case? Or are you too high to concentrate?” 

Cas just looked at him for a moment. So, this is how they were going to handle things? He really shouldn’t be surprised. It had been years since they interacted with anything more positive than sarcasm. In fact, the sarcasm was usually an indicator that their relationship was in a pretty good place, relatively speaking. Their standard interactions ended in shouting and sometimes violence. The rest of the camp had just gotten used to it after a while. Even Chuck had stopped trying to get them to sit down and work out their differences by the end there. 

“First of all, we are nowhere near Jericho yet, so I’m not breaking the no getting high on a job rule. Second, while I’m not too high to discuss the case, your tone is ruining my calm, so I’m tempted to get too high to discuss things with you.”

“Good God, Cas. Grow up.” Dean glared at Cas for longer than Cas really though was safe while he was supposed to be watching the road. He almost said just that, but he hadn’t been lying about not really being that high and managed to reign in his tongue before he made the situation even worse. 

Cas rubbed his hand over his face and sighed. “Sorry. Force of habit. Let’s talk about the case.” Dean sat in shock as Cas went on, “We already know this case will be resolved by reuniting Constance Welch with her children. So, we can either use this as an opportunity to simply brush up on hunting and go straight for the kill, or we can also use this as a chance to acclimate to our new surroundings and go through the motions of interviewing and such. I don’t know about you, but I probably don’t really pass for “normal” in 2005.”

“First lesson on being normal is to drop the finger quotes, Cas.” Cas just glared at Dean. His finger quotes were effective indicators of his meaning, what did Dean know about effective communication? 

“But, I get your point. I may have had an epic freak out the one time I left the motel before you got here. Honestly, though, I feel like we should just go straight for the kill and then hang around the town and practice our people skills. It’s not like we’ll be brushing up on normal human interaction by pretending to be federal agents or talking to grieving families. That’s all just acting. We can handle that. Well, I can.” 

Cas narrowed his eyes in irritation. His people skills weren’t THAT bad. 

“Really, the people we need to convince are Sam and Jess. It’s the normal, day to day interaction stuff we have to relearn. Or, I guess in your case learn.” 

Cas could feel his teeth start to ache as he clenched them harder. 

Dean finally seemed to notice the death glare Cas was aiming at him. “I mean, come on, Cas. You were never real good at this stuff as an angel, and you learned how to be human during the literal apocalypse. I’m not trying to piss you off here. You never had a chance to just be a normal guy.”

Cas was still pissed and a little insulted, but he recognized the olive branch Dean was offering. “Fine. You’re right. And I do like your idea to just hang out in town and acclimate to a world that isn’t actively trying to kill us at all times. I mean, when I went to get those guns, the guy who sold them wasn’t even armed! I had half expected him to try to shoot me and take what I had, but even the guns he was selling were unloaded. Plus, we do have a couple of days before we have to meet up with Sam and Jess at Stanford.”

Dean nodded, and then he got a contemplative look on his face before saying, “You know, Cas, I’ve been wondering; how did you pay for those guns?”

“Hmm? Oh. I popped into a bank vault and grabbed some cash before I met up with the guy.”

“What?!” Dean shouted and swerved the car as he turned abruptly to stare at Cas in disbelief. 

Oh good, Cas thought. We’re back to the shouting. 

Dean took a deep breath and visibly calmed himself. “What, pray tell, were you thinking?”

“I was thinking that we needed a way to protect ourselves in case we ran into something more potent than a spirit, Dean. Your arsenal is made up of like 60% salt. The first time around, that cut it. This time, though, we’re kicking the hornets’ nest early, and we need to be prepared. I don’t want you or Sam to end up dead.”

Dean got a funny look on his face as Cas explained. “Okay, then. Just, try not to commit any more felonies for the foreseeable future unless it’s absolutely necessary?”

“No promises, but I’ll do my best,” Cas said with a grin that Dean returned. 

Huh, Cas thought. Maybe those bridges weren’t quite as burned as he had thought. With the grin still on his face, he reached over to turn up the radio. Maybe this drive wouldn’t be so bad after all.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, clearly the chapter a week schedule promised in the first chapter flew out the window awhile ago and never stopped going. Sorry about that. I promise I won't abandon this story, but Chuck only knows how long it will take to finish. Sorry about that, too. 
> 
> Anyway, enjoy!

"What the fuck?! There better be croats actively ripping out your throat, Dean Winchester," Cas growled out. He was less than pleased by Dean's chosen method of waking him up—speeding into the parking lot of a motel and abruptly slamming the breaks, throwing Cas forward with such force he was honestly shocked his skull hadn't cracked the windshield. 

Dean had the nerve to look on impassively as if he had not just tried to commit a unique form of vehicular homicide. "What?" Now Cas was going to kill him. He was already reaching for his knife so he could explain to Dean "What" when he noticed the desk clerk walking towards them with a stormy look on his face. Excellent. 

"Dean, I think it's time for you to start practicing your people skills," Cas said with a vicious smile. Dean looked up from where he had been thoroughly enjoying Cas' misery. "Shit."

*Knock* *Knock* *Knock*

"Jesus, it's a window, I can see you!" Dean growled angrily as he got out of the Impala. 

"Are you sure? Because the way you were driving when you pulled in here I thought maybe you couldn't see that this was a motel and not in fact a race track. Do you know what my boss would do if some asshole drove through the wall on my watch?"

Cas watched from inside the car as Dean's hand drifted toward the holster of his gun. Wasn't Dean supposed to be the one out of the two of them who had 'people skills'? Cas could have sworn that was how that conversation went. He was tempted to just let Dean draw a weapon on the guy as if they were still in the apocalypse (the guy's voice was pretty shrill and doing nothing for the headache Cas was developing in the aftermath of his valium binge combined with the crack his head just had). But, despite what Dean may think, he isn't a complete asshole. So, Cas opened the door and got out.

"Sorry, man, I was trying to teach my friend here how to drive. Can you believe he never learned? It's still a work in progress. You'd think a grown man would have a better grasp of left and right." Cas said all of this with an exasperated sigh and a small conspiratorial smile. Dean appeared to be too angry to utter anything other than a low growl in Cas' direction. Cas ignored him. 

"Alright, but, seriously, if he's this bad you should keep him on back roads. Or empty parking lots. There are kids around here." The clerk seemed mostly mollified if still annoyed. 

"Yeah, I thought he had finally gotten the hang of the breaks, but I guess not," Cas said with a smirk in Dean's direction. Dean just glared back. 

"Fine, but if you're planning on staying here he's not allowed to drive." 

Cas grinned. "No problem. I'll make sure he stays away from the wheel until we're out of town and somewhere he can't hurt anyone with his driving," he said while staring at Dean's outraged face. "Give me a minute to go over what he did wrong and remind him of 'lefty loosey, righty tighty' and I'll be in to book a room."

The clerk nodded, gave Dean one last glare, and turned to walk back into the motel office. 

"Who's got no people skills now?" Cas asked smugly. "And don't even try to act like the injured party here. I just saved you from getting thrown in jail. Interesting considering all the muttering you've been doing about my criminal habits."

"You—YOU saved ME?! How hard did you hit your head, Cas? In what way was you insulting me and making me look like a moron saving me?!"

"In the way that it saved you from drawing your fucking gun on the fucking motel clerk. You moron," Cas said in clipped tones. "Go ahead, try to tell me that's not what you were about to do. I'll wait."

Dean had the decency to look guilty. "I'm not letting you drive. You don't even have a license. I'll get our stuff while you go book the room."

Cas shook his head in exasperation before turning and walking into the office to book their room. Luckily, he still had some cash left over from his gun deal as all the credit cards were in Dean's wallet, and Cas didn't think now was a good moment to ask Dean for anything. 

By the time he came back out with the room keys, Dean was leaning on the hood of the Impala waiting. "Do we need to move the car?" Dean asked. 

"No, he put us in room 3, right next to the office," Cas gestured. "I think he wanted to keep an eye on the car and make sure you didn't get back in the driver's seat." Cas couldn't hold back his snort of amusement. 

Dean glared at him for a moment before grabbing one of the room keys and stalking to the door, which he slammed shut behind himself. Rude. 

Cas took a moment to center himself. Usually, when Dean got like this he'd just pop a few pills, maybe wash them down with a bottle or two of whiskey, and find a warm, willing body or five. Now, though, they were on a mission, so he had to cut out the substances, and the only available warm body was Dean's, and he was most certainly not willing. Not at the moment, anyway. After a minute he opened the door and followed Dean inside. 

Cas looked around the room. It wasn't awful. Sure, the color scheme made him think of certain unpleasant bodily functions, but at least there weren't feline eyes staring at him from every corner like Dean's last room. What the hell had he been thinking when he booked that room? Cas shuddered. 

"Alright, so I figure we should get Constance out of the way first, and then we can settle in and work on being real people for a couple of days," Dean said. 

It took Cas a moment to realize what was happening. Dean was actually letting the scene outside go. It didn't even look like he was finding it painful. Maybe he had been wrong and 2005-Dean was influencing Dean more than Cas had originally thought. Just in case pointing out what was going on caused Dean to realize he wasn't being a total dick, Cas decided to just roll with it. 

"Sounds good to me. What do you remember from the first time around?"

"Well, I remember we have to get to this abandoned house on the outskirts of town, but I don't remember the exact address or how to get there. Luckily, my dad already has all that figured out and posted on the wall in his room. So, we just need to get in there and we're home free. We should probably grab his journal while we're in there, too. "

"Sounds like a plan. Which room's your dad's? And are you sure he's not still in town? We are about a week early," Cas said with a quirk of his eyebrows. 

"No, he's long gone. The first time around the douche at the desk told us he had rented the room for a month, which was almost up, but he hadn't seen him since the first week after he checked in. The problem is that I don't remember which room he was in."

"Seriously?" Cas asked. How hard is it to remember a room number? "How hard is it to remember a room number?"

"Hey, not all of us are blessed with angelic eidetic memories. It's been ten years and an apocalypse since I had to think about this," Dean growled, losing some of his calm. 

Cas felt a bit bad for snapping, but just a bit—his head still hurt. "Sorry. Still coming down from the valium. And, you know, the blow to the head."

"Whatever. We're both assholes. Moving on. I figure I can use the same story with the clerk—we're here for a family reunion, and we want to surprise Burt, so can he give us the room number. Then, we break in since he's not going to give us the key this time without the excuse we're sharing a room."

Cas lost the thread of what was happening for a moment. "Who's Burt?"

"It's the name on the credit card my dad booked the room with," Dean replied.

That he could remember? Whatever. Dean's plan didn't suck. "Yeah, that plan doesn't suck. Do you want to get into the room tonight? You said that the first time around there was a victim who went missing tomorrow night. We could use him as bait. You said Constance had Sam take her home before attacking, so she probably did the same thing to that kid. We can just wait out at the house once we get the address and when he arrives hijack his car and take the bitch home."

"Yeah, that's what I was thinking, Cas. So, how about I go get the address and journal while you call for some pizza. I'm starving. No pineapple, that shit's nasty." Dean said the last as he was walking out the door. 

Cas dug around in the bedside drawers until he found a phonebook and flipped to pizza. Using the room phone he called the first restaurant listed and placed his order. He almost got pineapple out of reflex, but changed his mind at the last minute and got a meat-lovers instead. No sense in pissing Dean off when he was just starting to show signs of being tolerable. 

Dean and the pizza arrived at the same time—Dean bearing not only the address and journal, but also a case of beer. Cas thanked a God he knew had fucked off long ago. He couldn't dip into his pills, but there was no rule about drinking while on mission as long as it wasn't during an active part of said mission. 

As they ate, drank, and watched an action movie on the tv, Cas was struck by just how discordant it all was after spending his entire human existence up until now in a dystopian hellscape where the only beer was that nasty home brewed stuff Chuck made and neither pizza or action movies even existed. After a moment he shrugged and set about consuming enough beer to make it so that the weirdness of his existence no longer bothered him.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, two chapters in one week. Is the apocalypse nigh? That I can't tell you. What I can say for sure is that my writer's block seems to have taken a vacation. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

Dean was not used to so much down-time on a hunt. During the apocalypse, you’d usually run into a fight before you even got where you were going, much less have to sit and wait for action once you were in position. In 2005, though, they had been sitting in the Impala for three hours with nothing to do. After the first hour, he started to notice every time Cas shifted in his seat. By the second, even the sound of Cas breathing grated on his nerves. After three hours, Dean was practically vibrating out of his seat with tension. 

“What the hell is taking this bitch so long?” Dean ground out between clenched teeth. 

“Who knows. The ways of the dead are strange and annoying,” Cas replied with a straight face. Dean was pretty sure he was just putting on that enigmatic angel crap to annoy him. He probably found it amusing. The bastard. 

“I need to stretch my legs. Shout if anything happens, but I won’t hold my breath.” With that, Dean got out of the car without waiting for a response, although he could picture the exaggerated eye-roll Cas was no doubt employing. 

He didn’t get more than four steps from the car before a set of headlights flashed around the corner and started to turn down the drive leading up to the house. He should have known all it would take for this hunt to get going was for him to get so fed up he started to wander off. At least the ghost hadn’t waited until he got too far away to help he supposed. 

He ducked down behind the hood as the kid who had picked up the hitchhiking ghost rumbled past. He glanced back and made eye contact with Cas who motioned for Dean to follow the car and he’d be right behind. Dean started forward, instinctually avoiding sticks and other noise generating underbrush while Cas did the same behind him. 

When he got to the parked car he quickly started laying down the salt line in a tight circle around the car. They came up to the car on the passenger’s side. He went around back and he knew Cas was slinking around the front, laying his own salt line.

Dean was momentarily taken back to that time they had used this strategy to trap a demon they thought had intel on Lucifer’s plans. Turns out they were wrong and Dean wasted an entire day on that interrogation. He had been pretty proud of himself and Cas for managing to lay down almost a whole circle around the demon before she even realized they were there despite the fact that she had clearly been waiting for them. This would be so much easier with just an oblivious civilian and a distracted to the point of obsessed ghost in the car. Not to mention the car that provided excellent cover for them. 

Just as he heard a ghostly whisper from inside the car, “I can never go home…,” Dean rounded the back bumper of the car. He paused for a moment until Cas appeared, crouched low at the front of the car. This was the critical part. They had to close the circle, or they’d probably lose their chance to deal with Constance tonight. He made eye contact with Cas, and they both surged forward, still silent, as they quickly lay down the final part of the circle. As soon as the circle closed, Constance felt it and screamed. 

“Shut up, you bitch!” Dean shouted over her rage as he threw open the driver’s side door and dragged the civilian out of the car, trusting Cas to grab the guy’s flailing legs so he wouldn’t break the circle. Cas might be useless at most things, and Dean wouldn’t trust him as far as he could throw him, but he definitely didn’t mess around in the field. Between the two of them, they got the kid out of the car and away from the action.

“What the hell?! If you want the car, fine, just don’t hurt us!” Dean just stared at the kid. Was he really that stupid? At least in 2014 the civilians they had to rescue from their own stupidity knew they had needed to be rescued. 

“Dude. Shut the hell up. We are not carjacking you, we’re saving your life. You do realize you’ve got a homicidal ghost riding shotgun, right?”

The kid just stared at him like he was insane and started to slowly back away. Great.

“Technically, we are carjacking him, Dean. The fact that it’s for his own safety doesn’t negate that,” Cas pipes up from behind Dean.

“Seriously, Cas?” Dean asked in exasperation. Cas just looked at him and shrugged while the kid’s eyes got even bigger. 

“Fine. We are carjacking you, but if we didn’t that bitch would have killed you horribly in about five minutes, so, really, you should be thanking us. Hell, when we’re done here, you can even have your damn car back. No promises on what condition it’ll be in, though.” Dean looked back towards Cas. “Satisfied?”

“Yes, that was much more accurate, Dean.” 

“Can we get down to business now that we’ve cleared that up?” Dean asked. Without waiting for an answer he turned back to the car. “Alright, so I’ll get in the car and drive her home and we’ll be home-free. Sound good?”

“Actually, I think it would be better if I did it. We need to make sure she stays in the car once we drive it over the salt circle, right?” Cas asked. 

“Well, yeah, but I thought the plan was just to go really fast and pray for the best like Sam did the first time around,” Dean replied impatiently. 

“I know, but I have a better idea,” Cas said. And, without any further explanation, Cas stalked over to the kid who was staring between them with wide, confused eyes, grabbed his face, and kissed him.

Dean just stared. He never could quite predict what Cas would do at any given moment (other than it would always be whatever would be the most annoying), but he was truly confused. “Um, Cas? What are you doing? Is this really time?” Dean demanded. 

Cas broke off the kiss and turned back toward Dean. The kid looked a bit dazed, but still had enough sense about him to screech out, “What. The. Fuck?!?! I am NOT gay!”

Cas just rolled his eyes, having long ago given up on humans and their weird notions of sexuality. “As you and I never officially broke off our sexual relationship, we are both, technically speaking, cheaters. I figured the more recent the indiscretion, though, the better, and I thought this would be more expedient than debating who would be the one to drive the car.”

Dean just stared at Cas for a moment. “That is insane! I am not a cheater, we clearly ended whatever it was we were doing before I slept with anyone else! Not to mention, you have to be in some sort of romantic relationship for cheating to count, which we most certainly were not!”

“Dean, I don’t think the ghost cares about your emotional repression enough to distinguish between an openly romantic relationship and what we did. Anyway, if I’m wrong, worst case is we’re back to plan A. I’m not seeing a downside.”

Cas did have a point there. About the second thing. Dean was not repressed. “Alright. Fine. We’ll do this your way. In the future, we should probably discuss plans before the hunt begins, though?”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Let’s get this over with. He’s really starting to get on my nerves,” Cas said with a head jerk in the direction of the guy they were saving. 

With that, Cas got in the car, slammed the door, and pushed on the accelerator. The car took off just as Dean heard a screech from inside the car that sounded suspiciously like the word cheater. Fine, maybe Cas’ plan wasn’t so stupid after all. But, they did need to work on his communication skills. 

As the car crashed through the wall of the house Dean heard, “My car! What are you crazy fucks doing?!” from behind him, but he ignored the shout and ran toward the hole that was now in the side of the building. By the time he got there, it was all but over. Cas was stumbling out of the car while Constance and her children had their fiery reunion. After he confirmed that the ghosts had disappeared just like the first time he and Sam had worked this hunt, he turned to Cas to make sure he was okay. Cas lifted up his shirt to look at the vivid bruising on the area of his chest where his heart was. 

“I guess I was right after all,” Cas said pointedly. Dean chose to ignore that. 

“Let’s get the car out of the building so we can wrap this up,” Dean said instead. 

Cas got back in the car and backed it out of the house, narrowly missing the owner of the car who had been running toward the house to check on his car. Seriously. How stupid were civilians before the apocalypse? Dean could have sworn they had had at least some survival instincts, but maybe he was wrong. 

Luckily the kid threw himself out of the path of the vehicle before getting crushed. Cas got out of the car. “All yours. Enjoy living the life you almost lost.”

Dean, again, rolled his eyes. Yeah, they were going to have to work on dealing with people on these cases. That would have worked in 2014 when everyone they met was just grateful not to be dead, but in 2005 people cared about things like cars and social niceties.

“You guys are insane! I’m calling the cops!” And with that, the guy jumped in his car and sped away. 

“Well, we probably have about 15-20 minutes before the cops show up, so let’s get this done,” Dean said. 

They walked over to where the Impala was stashed and got more salt and some gas canisters out of the trunk. It only took them five minutes to make sure the house was well salted and prepped to burn. No sense taking any chances. 

As they drove off with the orange glow of a house fire at their backs and the scream of police sirens in the distance, Dean thought that the hunt had gone pretty smoothly. Maybe this whole 2005 thing wouldn’t be so difficult after all. At least, once he got Cas in check.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story has a mind of it's own. I'm not sure about this chapter, but I'm going to go ahead and post it before I think better of it and delete the whole thing and start from scratch, haha. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Cas looked around the diner. It was still strange to be among so many people. Especially so many people who were calm and content instead of fearing for their lives from the things that lurked in the dark. Hell, most of the humans he met in 2014 were afraid of him, and that was before they found out he wasn’t quite human. Just his affiliation with Chitaqua was enough to cause most people to eye him warily. Now… well, actually, now people still avoid him, but he thinks the cause is closer to disgust than fear, based on the looks the other diners are throwing his way. He took a look at himself in the mirror behind the register while they waited for the waitress to seat them. 

He’s still wearing the same clothes he arrived in, including his jacket with the suspicious staining that definitely comes from human blood. His hair is limp and greasy. He has ash smeared across his face from Constance's house. He tries to subtly sniff his shirt (he fails at being subtle) and finds that he smells strongly of gasoline and smoke. His only consolation is that Dean is only doing a bit better than him, having changed his clothes since arriving in 2005, but not since they engaged in arson.

“Dean, perhaps we should have stopped at the motel to clean up before attempting to engage in ‘normal human interaction.’” Cas was pretty proud that he was able to emphasize that last phrase without physically using finger quotes.

Dean looked confused for a moment. Then, he seemed to really see Cas, and himself, for the first time and cringed. “Right. I sort of forgot how much the standards for personal grooming changed once the apocalypse got going. Maybe we should clean up and try this again?”

“My thoughts exactly, and I think the staff would prefer it as well.” Cas was watching as the waitresses argued by the kitchen door while throwing looks their way that ranged from nervous to disgusted. Dean followed his gaze and nodded before turning and heading out the door. As Cas turned to follow, he saw the relief painted on the waitress’ faces. He felt like he was supposed to be offended, but really he didn’t care. He wouldn’t have even bothered addressing the issue if they hadn’t actively been trying to blend in and learn how to act like normal residents of the year 2005. So, really, he should get points just for that, right?

40 minutes later, they pulled into the parking lot of a motel in the next town over, having decided that they might as well take the opportunity to distance themselves a bit from the site of their arson. They grabbed their bags from the trunk and went inside their room. 

After a brief game of rock-paper-scissors (Cas still didn’t quite understand how that was a legitimate way to make decisions, but he wasn’t in the mood to argue at the moment), Cas entered the bathroom to shower first. “Don’t forget to shave!” Dean yelled after him. Cas glanced in the mirror. He didn’t see anything wrong with his facial hair—sure, it was a bit scruffy, but he kept it trimmed enough to not get in the way or provide a grip for attackers. Whatever, there’s only so far he’s willing to go to be “normal.”

Cas turned from the mirror and turned on the shower before shedding his clothes and hopping in.

Oh. My. God. Cas had no idea that a shower could feel so good. By the time he had fallen and needed to take them regularly, hot water was impossible to find in the infected zones. His experience with showers had exclusively been either unsatisfyingly lukewarm or painfully freezing. This, this was heavenly. The hot water massaged his scalp and chased away the headache he’d been nursing since arriving in 2005. He would have stayed in the shower all day except…

*POUND POUND POUND*

“If you use all the hot water I’m flushing your drugs!”

Cas rolled his eyes. But, after one more moment to savor the warmth, he turned off the water and grabbed a towel. He used it to get rid of the excess water clinging to his body before rubbing it through his hair and hanging it properly on the rack—like a normal person not living in apocalyptic conditions, thank you very much. He considered at least trimming his facial hair for a moment, before deciding that it wasn't at a point where it really needed it yet and exiting the bathroom. 

"Come on, man! Would it kill you to use a towel?!"

"I did use a towel…" Cas said in genuine confusion. 

"To cover your junk, man. You're just walking around naked. I know you're not really into boundaries and such, but even you have to realize you can't just wander around naked in front of people you're not sleeping with."

"Dean, is this you trying to pretend to be who you were in 2005? I know Sam doesn't know you're attracted to men and would be shocked to know that you have slept with several, myself included, but we're alone right now, and this is nothing you haven't seen before, both during and after the time we were actively engaging in sex. If you're actually uncomfortable, though, I should probably apologize for the last few years…"

"What? No, I'm not. I mean. Okay, maybe it does have to do with Sam. Most people, I couldn't give a rat's ass what they think, but Sam? This is my chance to reconnect with him and not screw up our relationship to the point where he flees the state to get away from me and says yes to Lucifer. I know it's insane, but I just don't want to do anything that will change the way he thought of me when we were kids now that I have the chance at a reset on our relationship. I was his hero then. It was after that—all the shit that came out, that tore us apart. I know we never actually got around to the revelation of my sexuality, but I just don't want to risk that being the thing that sets off the chain reaction of him no longer trusting me."

"Dean, I know I didn't have the chance to really get to know Sam, not the way you do. But, from what I do know, he would never reject you for who you love or even who you sleep with. What tore you apart before was secrets—yours, his, your father's. If anything, you should be upfront with him. To a point, anyway. I think the apocalypse and time travel might break the Sam of 2005. You liking men, though? I'm pretty sure he can handle that. After all, he did accept you sleeping with every woman in your sight for how many years with nothing more than exasperation," Cas ended with a grin in Dean's direction. 

Dean just stared at him blankly for a moment, and Cas was afraid maybe he had gone too far. He was really trying not to be the argumentative, contrary asshole he knew he had become over the course of the apocalypse. He just wasn't sure if he could pull it off.

Dean smirked. "Yeah, he was just jealous. You're right, though. I should give him the chance to get to know me. But, that does not mean you should wander around naked, which was my point before we somehow got off topic with all this touchy-feely feelings crap. So, what is the real lesson here?"

Cas just shook his head in exasperation. "Don't walk around naked," he replied while standing in the middle of the room without a stitch of clothing on and making no move to change that. Like he said, he wasn't very good at the whole not-being-an-asshole thing yet.

Dean threw his hands in the air and started for the bathroom. "I give up. But, when you get arrested for trying to start some freaky public orgy, I'm not bailing you out. That shit may have worked in Chitaqua, but it is not okay here—hell, it wasn't okay there, but no one cared because we might have all been dead in 30 minutes." With that, Dean shut the bathroom door.

Cas ignored him in favor of going through his bag for clean clothes since he still hadn't gotten around to buying any of his own, and the whole point of taking a shower would be destroyed if he just put on his dirty, apocalypse clothes that were lying in a heap on the floor. Once he was dressed, he grabbed a bottle of whiskey out of his own bag. He looked at it and decided that even if it was only three-quarters full it would suffice to relax him enough for dinner out among the people of 2005. He unscrewed the lid and sat back on one of the beds to wait for Dean to finish in the bathroom so they could try the going out in public without scaring the natives thing again—hopefully with more success this time.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And another chapter! This one is pretty long by the standards I've set, but after this we will finally get to Stanford, Sam, and Jess!
> 
> Enjoy!

After a shower, Dean was feeling a lot better. He had forgotten how refreshing getting clean could be. During the apocalypse not only was it difficult to find a shower, it was difficult to find time between things trying to kill you to clean up even if the means were there. 

As he walks out of the bathroom (properly covered with a towel, thank you very much), the first thing he sees is Cas drinking straight from a bottle of whiskey. He walks over to Cas purposefully and stares at him until he lowers the bottle from his lips. As Cas starts to ask what he wants, Dean takes advantage of his distraction to snatch the bottle from him and take a hearty gulp. 

Cas stares at him for a moment in shock. He had clearly been expecting a lecture on his overindulgence and not Dean joining him in said overindulgence. 

“What? You think you’re the only one who needs some liquid courage to get through this? I think I mentioned the major freak-out I had the last time I was around normal people for more than a minute,” Dean says before downing the remainder of the whiskey. “You might have learned how to be human in the apocalypse from the worst person you could possibly find to teach you human skills, but I’m the person who taught you. I was just barely a functional member of society the first time I lived through 2005, and even then my areas of expertise were lying about being a federal agent and lying to pick up chicks, and the occasional guy, in bars. It’s been years since I’ve dealt with people who weren’t in mortal danger, trying to kill me, or taking orders from me.”

Cas thinks about this for a moment before reaching into his bag and pulling out another bottle of whiskey. He takes a swig before offering it to Dean. “Here, there wasn’t even enough left in that bottle for you to feel it.”

Between the two of them, they managed to put away about half of the second bottle before they both felt lubricated enough to head out. 

It wasn’t until they had already been on the road for five minutes that Dean remembered there were laws about driving while intoxicated in 2005. Oops—no turning back now. Anyway, it’s not like the third of a bottle he drank was enough to really affect him. Except, things were a bit wobblier than they should be…

“Cas, what was in that bottle? It wasn’t just normal whiskey,” he said as he pulled over. 

“Shit. I should have realized. You’re back in your 26 year old body.”

“Yeah? And?” Dean asked. Seriously, what’s with the non-sequitur? 

“Think back. At 26 you were toeing the line of functional alcoholism, but you hadn’t taken the dive into the deep end yet. This body doesn’t have the tolerance you did in 2014. On the plus side, you don’t have to drink nearly as much to reach inebriation.” Cas grinned as if this was a good thing. Which, okay, yeah, he won’t have to spend as much on liquor to give himself the ability to sleep at night, and he was probably escaping a seriously awkward conversation with Sam about him downing whole bottles of whiskey.

“Right. I guess that makes sense. Maybe you should drive the rest of the way, though. I’m not too far gone, but it’s probably safer for you to drive. I’m still getting used to there being traffic on the roads again, and that paired with the unexpected reaction to the whiskey...”

Cas looked at him a moment before replying. “Dean, you do realize that I have literally never driven on roads where the rules of the road apply, right? I don’t even know what ‘right of way’ means.”

“Dammit. Fine. If I crash or we get pulled over, I’m blaming you, though.” Dean glared at Cas.

Cas rolled his eyes. “Dean, yes, you are feeling the whiskey more than you are used to from that amount, but you’re by no means drunk. Did you miss the part about you being borderline alcoholic even at 26? Not to mention I’ve seen you drive while much farther gone over the last few years. I mean, sure, that was usually due more to blood loss than alcohol, but you’ve done both.”

After thinking about it for a moment, Dean couldn’t find fault with Cas’ logic, so he pulled back onto the road. He couldn’t help but think that just maybe they both had a skewed view of the whole thing, though. Oh well. Baby steps.

After an uneventful drive, they arrived at Murphy’s Diner. Dean had noticed a sign in the window advertising homemade pie on the way into town, and if he was going to brave human interaction again he needed pie to fortify himself. 2005 might be disconcerting as hell, but it did have its perks. 

When they walked in the door the initial reaction to them was much more favorable than at the last place. The waitress smiled and grabbed two menus before leading them over to a booth. Her smile wavered a bit when Cas walked in front of her to take his seat, though. Dean cupped his hand and sniffed his breath. Shit. They smelled like a distillery. He froze for a second and considered aborting again, but, really, this is probably as normal as they are going to get. Hell, at least it’s 7pm. Could be worse. They could have wandered in at 7am. So, he shrugged and slid into his side of the booth. 

By the time he looked up the waitress had regained her composure. Realistically, she probably dealt with drunk customers on a daily basis. At least they aren't being loud and sloppy, so go them. 

“Can I start you with anything while you look over the menu? Coffee, maybe?” The waitress, Susan, according to her nametag, asked. Subtle. 

“Yeah, coffee sounds good. Cas?”

“Hmm? Yeah, coffee.”

“Okay, well, I’ll be right back with that.”

She was back in a moment with two cups and a pot of coffee. She filled the cups and turned to leave when Cas stopped her. 

“Leave the pot. It will save you several trips.” She looked at him for a moment, probably expecting something more—at the very least eye contact, but that was all she was getting. She grabbed a coaster and left the pot as requested before heading back to the kitchen. 

“Cas, she already thinks we’re sketchy as hell, at least make eye contact when you talk to people.”

Cas looked up, confused. “Why would she think we were sketchy? We showered, we changed our clothes, neither of us are visibly carrying weapons, we even came to a diner in an entirely different town than the one where we scared all those people.”

“Well, for one thing, we both smell like we bathed in whiskey. It’s not as bad as smelling like a house fire, but it’s not exactly acceptable behavior in polite society outside of the apocalypse.”

Cas sniffed his own breath. “Oh. I guess in a world where everyone doesn’t need to drink to forget the horror of their lives, downing a bottle of whiskey before dinner is probably frowned upon. Next time I’ll wait until after dinner for that and use the valium to relax before dinner.”

Cas finished up his speech just as the waitress returned to check on them. She gave Cas a horrified look before turning to Dean. “Are you ready to order, or do you need a bit more time?”

Dean was impressed. She was holding it together pretty well for someone confronted with the two of them. “We’re ready. I’ll have a double bacon cheeseburger and fries. Oh, and a chocolate milkshake. Cas?”

Cas turned his gaze to Susan and said, “I’ll have the same, Susan.” He kept staring after placing his order, not blinking the whole time. 

“O-okay, that will be right up,” she said before turning to leave. She gave them a nervous look over her shoulder before disappearing into the kitchen. 

Dean let his head fall and hit the table.

"What?" Cas asked, exasperated. "I did exactly what you said. I was polite and made eye contact with her."

"Yeah, but it was the way you made eye contact, man. Regular people, people who aren't time-traveling fallen angels, blink occasionally. You just stared at her like you were trying to decide if she would taste better with bbq sauce or honey mustard."

"Don't be gross. Honey mustard is an abomination upon my father's creation."

"Seriously? That is your takeaway from that? I was actually mostly kidding about you being totally hopeless at this. I thought you'd at least have the basics like cannibalism is bad down."

Cas looked annoyed and replied, "Yes, I know cannibalism is bad, Dean. I'm pretty sure living the last several years of my life in a dystopian hellscape full of croats who's horror came primarily from the fact that they used to be human and also consumed human flesh for fun hammered that point home pretty damn well."

"Right. Well, your sense of humor needs a serious upgrade, then. Let's try to take it from pitch black to some shade of grey, huh?"

Cas glared at him in silence until their food arrived. After about three minutes of that, Dean gave up and started reading the dessert menu. Jackpot. They had strawberry rhubarb pie here. He knew what he was getting for dessert. 

"Here you go, boys," Susan said. Dean had to give her credit. Most waitresses would probably have at least tried to fob off a table of drunk guys who casually talked about binging on benzos and stared uncomfortably. 

Once she set down their food she got out of there quickly. There's only so far she was willing to go for a job, Dean guessed, and hanging out to make small talk with the sketchy drunk guys was over that line. He couldn't really blame her. 

"What the hell is this, Dean?" Cas demanded, poking his milkshake with a spoon cautiously. 

"It's a milkshake, Cas. Like you ordered."

"I don't know what I ordered, I just got whatever you did. What do I know about any of the food on this menu. None of it comes out of a can or was shot in the woods down the road."

"Well, not necessarily. I mean, yeah, none of it was alive less than 12 hours ago, but I'd bet at least the veggies have seen the inside of a can. First lesson of diner eating—avoid the vegetables."

Cas just glared at him. "Dean, this looks like mud. Mud in a glass. And not just any mud. This looks like the mud it took us 6 hours to get the jeep out of outside of that town those vampires had set up a nest in. That mud was disgusting. And annoying. Why do I have a glass of mud in front of me, Dean?"

"Jesus, Cas. I did not need that memory resurrected right now. It's a milkshake. A chocolate milkshake. You'll like it, I promise. Just try it."

"How do you know I'll like it? Is this a trick like that time you told me sardines were delicious?"

"What? No, it's not a trick. See?" Dean took a spoonful of his own milkshake and ate it. "Delicious. It's sweet. Just try it already. Or don't. I honestly don't care as long as you shut up about it."

Cas continued to look dubiously at the shake as he took a tiny, tiny amount onto his spoon and hesitantly put it in his mouth. Dean watched as Cas' eyes grew huge and his mouth slowly dropped open in shock. 

"That, is amazing. Dean Winchester, why did you never tell me how amazing chocolate is?!"

"Calm down," Dean said when half the diner turned to stare at the man in his 30s freaking out over a chocolate milkshake. "What did you want me to do? Tell you about how amazing chocolate and bacon and countless other things were that didn't exist in the apocalypse? Call me crazy, but that just seemed cruel."

Cas wasn't listening, though, he was too busy shoveling sugary goodness into his mouth. He finished his shake in what had to be record time. Dean guessed that being an angel, even fallen, must come with the perk of no brain-freeze. As he was thinking this, he noticed Cas eyeing his shake and rolled his eyes good-naturedly before pushing it over toward him. Cas immediately dug in. Dean just watched in fascination as the whole shake disappeared in under 5 minutes.

When Susan came over to check on them Cas demanded another milkshake, not having even looked at his actual food yet. Susan looked to Dean as if he was Cas' keeper and he didn't know what to do other than shrug at her. 

Five minutes later, Cas was working his way through his third chocolate milkshake, and Dean was starting in on Cas' fries since he obviously wasn't going to be eating actual food today. By the time Dean finished Cas' burger Cas was nearing the bottom of his fifth shake and the diner staff was standing in the kitchen doorway looking on with a combination of disgust and awe. And, really, Dean couldn't blame them. He was used to the ways of Cas (mysterious, weird, and unpredictable) and even he was a bit thrown by Cas' reaction to the milkshake. Although, if he thought about it for a moment, really he should have guessed what with Gabriel's thing for sugar. 

As Cas scraped the bottom of his last milkshake Susan came over to see if they needed anything else. 

"Just the check. Oh, and can you box up a slice of that strawberry rhubarb pie?" Susan nodded and, after throwing Cas one last look, headed off to grab that. 

"You're going to make yourself sick, you know. Even you can only eat so much sugar before you go into a sugar coma," Dean told Cas. The only response he got was Cas flipping him off with his right hand as he continued his search for more chocolate with his left. "Whatever, don't say I didn't warn you, though."

Once they were back in the Impala and heading to the motel Cas finally came out of his sugar induced catatonia to say, "Well, I think that went well."

Dean just stared at him. Probably longer than he should have since he was driving, but he had it handled. "You have got to be kidding me. Cas, the waitress thought we were drunk, probably thought you were high with the munchies, and the whole staff spent most of our visit watching us while you put away five chocolate milkshakes and I ate two whole dinners. I'm pretty sure we failed at being normal on pretty much all counts."

"But we have improved significantly. Neither of us tried to draw a weapon on anyone, and while they may have thought we were inebriated, they were not totally disgusted by us. Improvement," Cas pronounced with a smile. 

Dean shook his head, but he couldn't exactly disagree. He felt like he should be able to because that was a really low bar, but really, that was huge improvement for both of them. "Alright. I guess we should really head out for Stanford in the morning anyway. We only have three days until Azazel comes for Jess. We can keep practicing being people on the way. We'll need to stop for gas, after all." What could go wrong?


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Consider yourselves lucky you're getting this chapter. My cats took umbrage with how much attention I was paying to the computer and not to them, and one of them managed to turn the whole computer off by walking across the keyboard (interestingly, it was Cas and not Crowley). Luckily, auto-save kicked in and you all got a chapter today after all :) 
> 
> Enjoy!

They had been on the road for about three hours. Cas had started to get antsy about an hour back, but had held it in check. Mostly. He could tell Dean was getting fed up with his fidgeting. Dean had already had to bat his hand away from the radio controls four times. Once more and he thought Dean might actually make good on his threat to leave him on the side of the road. 

“Dean, stop at that gas station up ahead.”

“What? Why? We don’t need gas.”

“Because if we don’t stop and get out of the car one or both of us is going to end up getting stabbed,” Cas said, entirely serious. Every time Dean ordered him to stop fidgeting in his seat his hand drifted closer to his boot knife. They weren’t in Chitaqua anymore. Cas wasn’t a member of Dean’s militia. He didn’t have the right to order Cas to do anything anymore. 

Dean slapped his hand away from the air vents. “Stop messing with my car. Just sit there like a normal person for once!”

Cas glared at him. “Dean Winchester. You don’t get to order me around anymore. This isn’t the apocalypse and I’m not a member of your militia. We are equals. If you try that again, I will stab you. Not anywhere vital and not deep. But still painful. I’m intimately familiar with the way the human body works and know just where to stab to achieve my goal.” Cas said all this while flourishing his boot knife so it gleamed in the mid-afternoon sun. 

Dean looked like he was going to respond until he took in the sharp look in Cas’ eye and caught the glare from the knife. “Fine. We’ll stop at the damn gas station,” he ground out. 

Cas decided to take that as a win. He was serious about the orders, though. And while he may not have the AKs he had purchased the other day within reach, he was still quite well armed. Something it would be prudent for Dean to keep in mind.

Cas stared ahead impassively until they came to a stop in the parking lot on the side of the building. Dean started to say something that sounded disturbingly like a timeline for getting back on the road, but Cas chose to ignore him in favor of not spilling blood in the Impala. Dean was still talking as Cas leveraged himself out of the car and let out a sigh of relief once he was out of the confines of the car and could move around again. He took a furtive look around and, not seeing anyone nearby or any security cameras, flew to the door of the building. It wasn’t much, but after several years of not having his wings at all, even that small trip was a revelation. He instantly felt calmer. That is, until he heard the shout from back at the Impala. 

“Cas! What the hell is wrong with you?!”

He continued to ignore Dean and walked into the store. He really wasn’t kidding about the stabbing. He only had three means of dealing with negative emotions like annoyance, boredom, and anger beyond just ignoring the source of said emotions: sex, drugs, and violence. Sex was off the table for obvious reasons. He was trying to conserve the drugs he had liberated from that Walgreens, and he wanted to be coherent for their meeting with Sam and Jess—not only would it already be difficult not to freak them out, he anticipated quite the show when Dean and Sam were reunited and didn’t want to miss any of that. So, that left either violence or completely ignoring the source—Dean. 

Unfortunately, Dean was not going to let him use the last option.

The door to the shop banged against the wall as Dean burst in, earning a shout from the clerk which Dean thoroughly ignored in favor of stalking over to Cas who was intently examining the options in eyewear offered by the store. Cas picked up a pair of aviators and tried them on. 

“Cas. Have you completely lost your mind?! What were you thinking?! Did I or did I not tell you to act like a normal fucking human being?!”

Cas slowly slid the sunglasses up into his hair before turning and glaring at Dean with every ounce of angelic wrath and human fury he had. Dean had the sense to take a step back physically, but not the sense to back off verbally. 

“Seriously. I gave you one job—act normal, and you can’t even do that right. Why I thought this was a good idea, coming back here with the drugged up hippie with an anger manage---” Dean’s diatribe abruptly ended as Cas’ fist met his jaw. 

“Don’t. You. Dare. You think I’m going to screw this up? I gave up EVERYTHING for you! Which one of us drove Sam away originally? Which one of us set off the whole apocalypse in the first place?!” As soon as he said it, Cas knew he had gone too far. Dean’s eyes got hard and Cas didn’t even bother trying to block Dean’s punch when it came. He was lucky he still had that spark of grace, or he would probably have been nursing a broken jaw. As it was, he was going to have some impressive bruising to match what he had given Dean. 

They were just about to really get into it when, simultaneously, they realized the ringing in their ears was actually the sound of approaching sirens and not the result of incomprehensible rage. They both turned to look at the clerk who was standing behind the counter clutching a phone and a baseball bat while staring at them with wide, frightened eyes. 

Shit. 

As one, Cas and Dean dropped their fight and made a run for the Impala. Once they were inside, Dean tore out of the parking lot and turned in the opposite direction the sirens were coming from. 

There was tense silence for 20 minutes as they turned down several back roads to confuse their trail and avoid any traffic cameras. They both hoped the clerk hadn’t gotten a look at the car in his fear. 

Finally, when it looked like they had, somehow, made it away free and clear, Dean turned back onto the highway, but kept strictly to the posted speed limit. After a moment, they looked at each other and burst out laughing. 

“God, I needed that, Cas. I was starting crawl out of my skin. A good burst of adrenaline. Good for the soul,” Dean said while rubbing at his jaw. “Lucky you didn’t break my jaw, though. Ow.”

“Nothing lucky about it, as you well know. If I had been serious your jaw would be powder. But you’re right. I was going stir-crazy without something to focus on beyond being normal, whatever that means. You seriously did that every time you went out in public? Lord. How did you stand it?”

“You know, I don’t even know anymore. At the time it was automatic, but, now? I have to think about everything I say or do before I say or do it. You wouldn’t think a couple of years could ingrain habits so deeply.”

“I mean, it doesn’t help that we are both textbook cases of PTSD, even if the sources are a bit, unusual? I mean, I don’t think most psychiatrists have patients who have been to literal Hell or fallen from Heaven into a parody of humanity. And that’s before you even take into account the whole living through the apocalypse thing,” Cas said, thoughtfully. 

Dean shrugged. “Yeah, I guess. We really do need to work on that. We can’t get the cops called on us in front of Sam. This is Stanford-Sam. He’s judgy about me hustling pool. The cops get involved, and he’ll bolt.”

“Okay, you’re right. We both need to put a bit more effort into this. No more public fights. But, you have to stop acting like the Fearless Leader—you don’t get to order me around here.”

“Fine. But you have to at least put some effort into acting normal. No more flying in public, okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, alright,” Cas said reluctantly. He could feel a headache starting behind his eyes. Maybe just one valium wouldn’t hurt. They’ve still got a few hours before they reach Stanford, after all. With that thought, he dug through his pocket until he found the bottle he was searching for and popped a single pill. Dean rolled his eyes, but Cas decided to ignore that in honor of their new truce. So, instead of responding to that, he slid his new sunglasses down and settled back to take a nap until they reached Stanford. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

As Cas gradually woke up, he realized several things: the sun had gone down, which was odd because they should have gotten to Stanford well before sundown, the car was stationary, and his neck was insanely stiff. He sat up and immediately cracked his neck.

“That cannot be good for you, man,” Dean said from beside him. 

“Maybe not, but neither is sleeping in a car for, how long have I been out?” Cas asked. 

Dean glanced at the clock. “About seven hours, give or take.”

“Right. Do I want to know why you let me sleep for five hours longer than the drive should have taken?”

“I don’t know how to do this. It sounded so simple in theory. Come back, protect Sam and Jess, avert the apocalypse. But, we got to Stanford, and it hit me. I have to look Sam in the eye, knowing everything that went down between us, except, none of that happened for him. How am I supposed to deal with that? I don’t even know this kid anymore. Hell, I barely knew Sam at the end there, before he left. Every time I start to get up and go knock on the door I freeze. What if I screw it all up just like before? Or even worse?” Dean turned to face Cas, and he was surprised to see that Dean's eyes were glassy with unshed tears.

"Dean, you have to realize that I am the worst person to try to talk to about interpersonal relationships. That said, I realize that I am the only person you can talk to about this without getting locked up or shot with a silver bullet. So. My advice is to just suck it up and knock on that door. Do you really think you could possibly screw things up worse than you did the first time, knowing what you do now?"

Dean just stared at him for a second. "You know? That was oddly comforting. Don't get me wrong, you suck at being reassuring, but that somehow worked." 

Cas shrugged. "So, are we doing this or what?"

When they got to the door of Sam's apartment, Dean just stood there. Finally, Cas reached over and knocked for him. Dean glanced over and nodded his thanks. And then they waited. And then they continued to wait. 

Cas knocked again, more forcefully. It was only belatedly that he realized that perhaps normal people didn't visit their estranged relatives unexpectedly at 12:30 at night when he heard a thump and a curse come from inside the apartment followed by a gruff, "I'm coming!" 

Oops.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. So, I lied last time. We didn't get to Sam and Jess in this chapter. But, we are literally at the door!


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy :)

*THUD* “I’m coming!”

Oh, Dean thought as he suddenly realized it was after midnight, on a school night, and his brother was a student despite being in his 20s (Dean still didn’t understand how anyone could want to spend more time in school than was legally required. He’d rather go back to school than Hell, but it was close). He looked frantically around for an escape, but Cas was blocking the hallway behind him and giving him a look that said he knew exactly what Dean was thinking. 

A moment later the door rattled a bit as the chain was released and the door opened to reveal a tousled and sleepy Sam. 

Everything froze. Dean stared at Sam. Sam stared at Dean. Cas watched them both (although Dean was pretty sure he was enjoying this. Bastard). 

Dean couldn’t believe how young his brother looked. His hair was bordering on short and he was lanky, missing the lean muscle he had developed hunting those years after Jess had died. Not to mention the way he was looking at Dean. Sure, he was shocked and confused, but not hostile or even wary. He was missing that hard edge he had gotten while Dean had been in Hell and Ruby had had her way with him. 

Dean knew he was supposed to say something in greeting to the brother he hadn’t seen in three years (or five depending on whose perspective you were looking at), but he couldn’t get his throat to open up and allow air, much less words, to pass. 

Finally, Sam gathered his wits. “Dean?! What the hell are you doing here? I haven’t seen you in three years. And it’s after midnight. Wait, what’s wrong? Is it dad? Is he dead?” Sam asked all in one breath. It took Dean a moment to get a word in around that. 

“I… uh… No, dad’s fine,” Dean answered the easiest question Sam had asked, knowing it was a copout, but he still needed a moment to get himself together. He was so not prepared for this. Damn Cas for making him think he was. 

“Okay, then…. So, why are you knocking on my door after midnight on a Thursday, then?” Sam asked with impressive calm. Dean may be totally out of his depth here, but he can still recognize that Sam is taking his inability to communicate like a normal person really well. Not to mention the unexpected post-midnight reunion. 

Cas chose that moment to chime in. “We were in the area and thought it would be cool to stop by and see you. Sorry about the time. We actually didn’t notice how late it was,” Cas said this with a grin that said he was thoroughly enjoying this entire thing. 

Sam just stared at him. Then he looked at Dean, and then back to Cas. “Who are you, then?” he asked. The longer this went on, the more Dean was wishing they had waited until daylight to have this reunion. 

“Hmm? Oh, I’m just a friend of Dean’s. A colleague, you could say.”

“Dean, did you bring a hunter to my apartment?” Sam’s voice took on an edge, but still nothing compared to the last time Dean had spoken to him. “I’m out of that. We’ve had this discussion, and nothing has changed. If this is about a hunt you can just turn around right now. If you want to grab a meal while you’re in town, that’s great, but I am not getting involved in whatever it is you’re doing. I’m out, and I’m staying out.”

“Sammy…”

“Don’t ‘Sammy’ me. It’s Sam. And I am not a hunter anymore. I’m less than a year away from graduating, and I’m not going to mess it up because you want to relive our messed up childhood through some salt n’ burn.”

Now Dean was starting to get a little annoyed. At least this time he knocked instead of breaking in and raiding Sam’s fridge. Sure, it was late, but that was still no reason for Sam to get so hostile. You’d think he’d be glad to see his brother after three years of radio silence, which, by the way, had totally gone both ways. Dean distinctly remembered trying to call for the first few months Sam was away and getting nothing but voicemail. 

“Well that’s just too damn bad, Sammy. I’m sorry you have to deal with your degenerate brother, but, unfortunately, you don’t have a choice. The hunt we’re on involves your girlfriend,” Dean snapped.

He could feel Cas roll his eyes behind his back. Not to mention the solid kick he gave to Dean’s shin. “Ow!”

“Oh, shut it. You barely felt that. You remember what you said outside? About fucking this up even worse than last time? Yeah. Somehow, you’re doing that. So stop it.” Cas glared at Dean, and Dean shut up.

“Sam, since the cat is well and truly ‘out of the bag,’” Cas said, complete with finger quotes (Dean groaned), “yes, I am a hunter, and we are here to save your girlfriend’s life.” Cas looked at Sam and Dean as if he had fixed something. 

“How was that better?!” Dean asked. Sam meanwhile was just staring at them with his mouth open. Finally, he gathered himself together.

“Who the hell are you? And what do you know about Jess?” Sam finally took on some of the dangerous air that he wore like a shield later in his life. 

“I’m Cas. Your brother and I…”

“Met a while ago and have been hunting together off and on,” Dean hurriedly filled in with a wild look in his eye. God only knew what Cas was going to say. ‘…used to sleep together,’ ‘…are from the future.’ He could have been going anywhere with that. 

Cas squinted at him and continued in an annoyed voice, “…met a while ago and have been hunting off and on since.”

“Uh Huh,” Sam said. “Even pretending that was a normal interaction, none of this explains why you are here at 12:30 am rambling like lunatics about my girlfriend. How do you guys even know about Jess, anyway?” Sam asked suspiciously. 

Dean didn’t have a good answer to that. “I, uh…”

“Dean’s been quietly stalking you for the last three years. Nothing serious, just checking in now and again to make sure you weren’t dead and that you were getting regular sex. You know, like brothers do.”

Dean whipped around to glare at Cas while Sam was startled into silence, but only for a moment. “Wait, what? You were keeping track of when I had sex? What the hell, dude?! Totally ignoring HOW you did that, WHAT made you think that was okay?!”

With a final glare in Cas’ direction, Dean turned to his brother. “I wasn’t spying on you having sex, for fuck’s sake. You can only take about a third of what he says seriously.” (“Hey!”) “I may have kept tabs on you, though. Just to, you know, make sure you were okay. We live dangerous lives, even if you’re out, you’re never really out.”

“No, Dean. I am out. Completely out. I do not need you watching out for me. If Jess is in danger, it’s because of something you led here, so either take care of it or lead it away. Now, kindly get out and let me sleep. If you’re still around tomorrow, I have a couple hours around lunchtime, and we can get together then as long as we don’t talk about hunting.”

No. They can’t leave now. Sure, things may have gotten off to a rocky start here, but they need all the time they can get to prepare for the demon. Sam and Jess need to be far, far away from here, now. 

“Look, I’m sorry to bring this to your door, but it was coming whether I was here or not. If anything, we are giving you guys a fighting chance to avoid as much of this as possible. Now, I get that you’re not hunting’s biggest fan, but that’s just too damn bad because the supernatural has a hard-on for you and your girl, right now. You’ve got two choices. One, you kick us out and in a couple of days something drops by that will disrupt your lives a hell of a lot more than me or even Cas. Two, you let us take care of it.”

Sam looked at them critically for a moment. “You’re serious, aren’t you? Something is really coming for Jess?”

Dean wished he didn’t have to tell him, but… “Yeah. Something bad. But, if you let us, we can stop it.”

Sam nodded. He might be hard-headed, but he was also smart and practical. “Alright. But can’t we talk about this tomorrow? I feel like Jess should be involved in this conversation, but I don’t want to wake her up. Plus, I’m going to need a moment to ease her into…this,” Sam said with a gesture that clearly encompassed Dean, Cas, and everything they represented in his mind.

Dean was just about to explain in no uncertain terms that they didn’t have the time to waste easing anyone into anything when…

“Ease me into what? And who, exactly, are you?”


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The one where we (finally!) meet Jess :D
> 
> Enjoy!

The two men standing in the doorway froze while Cas just rolled his eyes at their shock. He wasn’t sure how they didn’t expect Jess to appear at some point. Sam and Jess lived in student housing—the walls are not thick enough to block the sound of a Winchester disagreement. Actually, now that he considers it, he’s not sure the walls exist that would be up to that task. Although, there are certain prisons around the world designed specifically to isolate the prisoners. Perhaps one of those…

Cas was startled out of his musings when Dean snapped his fingers in front of Cas’ eyes. “Earth to Cas. If you’re going to be weird, do it inside so we can shut the door.”

Cas flipped Dean off and entered the apartment. Apparently while he had been considering the top decibel Dean’s voice could physically achieve it had been decided that they were moving out of the doorway and to the couch. If nothing else, at least Jess’ entrance got them into the apartment.

He was about to take a seat on the couch when he noticed Jess staring at him warily and chose instead to sit on one of the chairs across of Sam and Jess. See, he can recognize social cues. 

Dean is about to follow his lead and take the chair next to him when Sam says, “Dean, I know you’re carrying. Disarm before we have this conversation. I know you, and I know that you don’t go anywhere unarmed, but I think it would be best if you didn’t go armed in our home, right?” This last was directed at Jess. 

“I mean, don’t get me wrong, I don’t mind guns—I have one of my own, but, quite frankly, I don’t know you even if you are Sam’s brother. So, yeah, I’d like you to put your weapon on the table,” Jess said with a nod towards the coffee table between them. 

Dean sighed, but stood up and set his Colt 1911 down on the table. Then he proceeded to pull three vicious looking knives from various locations before finally pulled a small 380 from a holster at his ankle. As he did this Sam just stared at him. 

“Dude! Since when do you carry an entire arsenal?! Way to make our family look like crazy militants.” Dean just shrugged.

“A lot has happened since we last saw each other,” he replied lamely. 

Cas couldn’t help the giggle that bubbled up at that. “Understatement of the millennia, and I’d know,” he muttered under his breath with dark amusement. 

As soon as he said it, he regretted it when all eyes turned to him. Jess looked like she was going ask exactly what he was talking about, but Dean jumped in and said, with a mean grin, “Your turn.”

Cas considered not doing it. Or at least holding back. These people couldn’t really expect him to just sit here in a house that didn’t even have the doors salted without a single weapon. But, he knew that was exactly what Sam and Jess expected of him, and Dean would totally call him out if he tried to keep anything. He really needed to change up his habits so Dean didn’t know exactly what he was carrying and where he was carrying it. 

Finally, he stood up and disarmed. By the time he lay down the third gun, Sam’s jaw had dropped open and Jess had carefully moved back in her seat on the couch as far from him as she could get. In the end he deposited three guns of various caliber, two hunting knives, one silver knife, one bronze knife, and his angel blade on the table. The room was silent. 

Cas just shrugged and sat back down. He had done what they asked, what more did they want?

Jess looked from the coffee table full of weaponry to Sam. “Okay, you are explaining this. Now.”

Sam looked lost for a moment—he opened and closed his mouth a couple of times before managing to get started.

“Well... Um... Okay. So... Yeah. You know that my mom died when I was a baby, right?” Jess nodded for him to continue. “Well, I told you that she died in a house fire. Which is sort of true.” Jess raised her eyebrows. “Um, you see, there was a fire. And she did die in it, but, well…”

Cas couldn’t take this anymore. It was too painful to watch. Not to mention they eventually did need to get to the part where a demon was coming here to kill Jess. “The supernatural is real. Ghosts, monsters, demons. The whole shebang. A demon killed their mom and they grew up with their dad hunting the things that go bump in the night.” He turned to Sam. “See, really not that difficult,” he said with a roll of his eyes. 

And then everyone was yelling. Why did he associate with Winchesters again?

“I’m sorry, what?! You can’t possibly expect me to believe any of that! What’s your proof?!”  
“Oh my god! You can’t just dump that on someone! What the fuck is wrong with you?!”  
“You just can’t keep your damn mouth shut, can you?! Sam didn’t know about the demon, you idiot!”

When he didn’t respond, they gradually moved on to yelling at each other. (“Sam, what the hell is he talking about?!” “When did you find out what it was?! When were you going to tell me?!” “I was getting there, okay?! You wanted to ‘ease’ her into this first!”)

Once their attention was on each other instead of him, Cas got bored and wandered into the kitchen. He had to dig through a few cupboards, but he eventually found a container of table salt. He grabbed it and started laying down a line in front of the door. It wasn’t until he was protecting the window in the living room that anyone noticed what he was doing.

“Why are you pouring salt all over my apartment?” Jess’ question somehow broke through Sam and Dean’s argument (he was pretty sure he caught his name being thrown around a great deal. Meh) and they fell momentarily silent. 

“Many supernatural creatures cannot pass a salt line, including demons. I’m protecting your apartment since you made me give up all my weapons.” Cas said this last with pointed look at the coffee table. 

“Right. This is insane. Sam, is this some sort of Halloween prank? Is this even your brother? You do realize I have class at 8am, right? You couldn’t have scheduled this for tomorrow night?”

“Jess, I realize how this all sounds, but, despite his awful delivery,” Sam glared at Cas pointedly, “he wasn’t lying. This really is my brother Dean and his friend. They really do hunt the supernatural. And my mom really was killed by something, apparently a demon, but that last part’s news to me, too.” Sam gave Jess a look that screamed, ‘please believe me!’

“Sam Winchester. Don’t you dare give me puppy-dog eyes. You’re not getting out of this that easily. If this is some sort of joke, you better tell me right now. If I find out later, there are going to be real consequences. Now, explain.” Jess stared at Sam impassively, clearly not amused by any of this.

“Right. I swear this is not a joke. Remember when I showed you that photo of my brother? I mean, I know the picture was from when I was in high school, but this is Dean. He’s not great with social interaction that isn’t leading up to sex or violence (Hey!), but he’s a good guy. Him,” Sam waves his arm in Cas’ direction, “I don’t know and can’t explain, though.” 

Cas and Dean were intelligently staying (mostly) quiet while Sam explained. Although Cas continued salting windows, which earned him some odd looks from Jess, but she chose to ignore it in favor of an explanation of what was going on. 

“Okay, you’re right. I do remember that picture. What about what he said about the supernatural? Are you seriously trying to tell me your family hunts ghosts for a living?” Jess asked with a skeptical quirk of her eyebrow. 

“Look, I know it sounds insane. But, Jess, you know me. I wouldn’t lie about this. My mom was killed by something, apparently a demon,” here he glanced at Dean, “when I was six months old. After that my dad figured out what was out there and hit the road with Dean and me to hunt down what killed our mom. While he searched he ended up hunting all kinds of things and met up with other hunters. Eventually, Dean and then I found out about what was really out there. Growing up, we helped our dad out with hunts. I learned how to shoot a shotgun before I learned to ride a bike. I told you how my dad reacted to me going to college. What I didn’t mention is that he was so pissed because he thought I was abandoning the family quest for revenge—which I was. Or, I was until they showed up tonight and drug me back in and you along with me. I’m so sorry,” Sam said with resignation. He looked at Jess, clearly expecting her to laugh or get even angrier. Honestly, Cas was expecting that, too. 

Jess sat and thought for a few minutes. “Fine. So, where do we go from here, then? I’m going to need you to fill me in. And, Sam Winchester, if I find out you’ve lied to me about anything else of this magnitude, we are done.”

Everyone just stared at Jess in shock. Well, that was unexpected. 

“Okay, don’t take this the wrong way, but why do you suddenly believe me? I know how all this sounds. It is actually true, but it sounds insane,” Sam said hesitantly. 

Jess looked him in the eye and replied, “Like you said, I know you. You clearly believe what you’re saying. And you don’t accept anything until you have irrefutable proof. That doesn’t mean I like any of this or that I’m not 100% freaked out. But, I believe you. It's either that, or you're all insane for believing in ghosts and monsters and I'm insane for believing you.”

Sam was grinning by the time she finished. “Look, I’m so sorry my weirdo past has invaded our lives, but I’m so happy that I don’t have to lie to you anymore about how I got my scars, or how I learned to shoot, or why horror movies just don’t scare me, or a million other things.” 

Jess smiled at him. Then, she turned to Dean and Cas. “Alright. Now that that’s settled. You two explain, one,” she counted on her fingers, “what the hell all the weapons are for, even for ghost hunting lunatics that's an impressively terrifying amount of weaponry, two, why you are here in the middle of the night shattering my worldview, and, three, why you two keep sneaking glances at each other that are alternately pissed and longing.” 

Cas and Dean just stared at her with slack jaws. 

“I’m waiting.”


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, my pace fell off a bit, sorry about that. This chapter is a touch short, but it didn't break well elsewhere. On a more positive note, the next chapter is halfway written :)
> 
> Enjoy!

"I'm waiting, guys," Jess said, clearly getting impatient with Cas and Dean's slack jawed silence. To be fair, they had been staring at her silently for a solid two minutes now.

Cas finally managed to gather his wits up and reply. "Trust me, you don't want to know why we have so many weapons. It would only damage your view of the world more than it needs to be, trust me."

As he finished his explanation, Dean, very rudely, grabbed his arm and started to drag him toward the door. "Sorry, he's not great with, well, most things that don't involve weapons or drugs. Give us a minute to have a talk about how to not traumatize people with unnecessary bluntness and we'll be back."

Sam and Jess didn’t say anything, but seemed relieved to have a moment to themselves.

Cas allowed Dean to drag him from the apartment only because he honestly didn't know what to tell Jess beyond what he already had. He wasn't being facetious—he really didn't want to damage her view of the world any more than necessary. He's an asshole, not a monster. 

Dean kept the same smile he gave to civilians when trying to keep them calm plastered on his face until they got to the street. Then, he shoved Cas away with a scowl and continued towards the Impala.

Fine. If Dean wanted to be an ass, Cas could reciprocate. It's not like he's the only one who freaked out Sam and Jess. If anything, Dean probably freaked Sam out more than he had since Dean was acting so far from how Sam expected his brother to act. Three years should only change a person so much, and Dean really isn’t hiding the extra years or the apocalypse as well as he thinks he is. 

"Dean. You do not get to blame this on me. I'm not the one whose brother is sitting up there wondering how I could change so much in just three years."

"No, you're not. But, you are the one who just casually dropped demons and the supernatural into the conversation! Not to mention that weird longing shit Jess was talking about. That's all you, man."

Cas thought about it for a moment. Sure, he did mention the supernatural first, but Sam was trying to get there. He was just helping. Also, fuck Dean Winchester.

"Seriously? You're going to blame this on me? You knew going into this that they were going to have to confront the supernatural reality of the world we all live in. I was helping. Sam would have taken weeks building up to telling Jess what was going on, and by then she'd be dead! Also? Fuck you. If there are any 'looks', it's totally coming from you. I realized long ago how much of an ass you are. And, as much as I may appreciate a well sculpted ass, I don't have time to deal with you."

"wh—y—gah--!" Dean spluttered before he was able to gather himself together and form a coherent sentence. "Are YOU serious? I mean, really? Even forgetting that there are SO many better ways we could have introduced Jess to the supernatural, there is NO way I'm the one pining for you! You are a drug addled, hippy slut, and I wouldn't be caught dead lusting after you!"

Cas just stared at Dean for a moment before responding, "Who said anything about lusting? What is the phrase? 'I believe you protest too much'?"

And then Dean lost it. For a moment Cas thought they were going to have it out in the middle of the street. It's not as if it would have been the first time, but it would have been the first time in the middle of a suburban street that was still populated by suburbanites. Instead, Dean threw himself into the Impala and roared off after slamming the door harder than was entirely necessary, in Cas' opinion, even given the circumstances. 

Cas just stared after the Impala as it turned the corner and disappeared. He couldn’t believe Dean had just left like that. Even forgetting the fact that they are trying to fix, you know, the world, when they fight like this they usually end up fighting it out—literally. Dean has never been one to run from a fight. Emotions? Sure, every time. But never a fight.

Cas looked back at the apartment building. He should probably go back in and try to salvage the night. Maybe convince Sam and Jess he and Dean are sane, competent human beings (despite everything about that being incorrect) so they can save Jess and thereby save Sam and thereby save the world.

He turned and started walking down the street. On their way into town, he had noticed a neighborhood that clearly housed illicit activity. Dean had just driven away with all of his drugs, he needed to stock back up.

~~~~~~~~~~

About an hour later, Cas was sitting on the curb outside Sam and Jess’ apartment when he sensed someone hovering behind him. “Sam, I can feel the judgement radiating off of you from here. At least come over here so I can see the judgement on your face.”

Sam walked over and sat next to Cas. “Are you smoking pot? Seriously? This is a public street, man. I’m trying to get into law school. I’d really rather not get arrested because the crazy hippy my brother brought to my house decided to get high in the middle of the street.”

Cas looked at Sam calmly and said, “I am not high. It would take something of a much higher quality to get me anywhere close. This is, relaxing. If I wanted to be high I’d swallow a few of these,” he said while shaking an aspirin bottle that decidedly did not contain aspirin.

“Also, I’m not a hippy. Ask your brother about the last time he called me that,” Cas said with a hard glint to his eye that had Sam back stepping a bit.

“Fine. Whatever you say. Speaking of Dean, though, where is he?”

“God only knows. Actually, now that I think of it, he might not. That would require him to give a shit. So, really, to be accurate, I suppose I should say ‘Dean only knows.’”

Sam just stared at him. What? That made sense. After a while, Sam shook his head and stood up with a grunt.

“Whatever, man. Are you going to come inside? Sketchy hip--, sorry, …guy, or not, Jess would kill me if I didn’t offer you the couch. Something about being a good host?” Sam shrugged as if the idea didn’t really make sense to him, even after living with Jess for two years.

Cas thought for a moment before shrugging himself and standing up. He tossed the end of the joint into the street (Sam glared but didn’t say anything) and gestured for Sam to lead the way, which he did—while grumbling about asshole brothers, sketchy hippies (Cas chose to be magnanimous and ignore that), and too polite girlfriends.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't had a chance lately to respond to comments, but please know how happy it makes me every time I get an email telling me I have a new one. I usually don't stop smiling for the next half hour or so :)
> 
> So, thank you all for commenting, leaving kudos, and reading!
> 
> Enjoy!

Dean had no idea where he was going when he drove away from Sam’s apartment building other than ‘away from Cas’. An hour or so later, though, he found himself parked in an abandoned parking lot that stretched on and on. He thought it might have once served a mall that had since been torn down, based on the large pile of debris piled haphazardly near the center of the lot.

After a while of sitting in the Impala brooding about Cas, the apocalypse, Cas, Sam and Jess, and Cas, he got out and went to the trunk where he knew Cas still had a couple of bottles of whiskey stashed. Dean cracked open a new bottle and lifted himself up onto the hood of the Impala. He leaned back against the windshield and stared up at the sky.

Despite his best determination to stop thinking about Cas and instead drink to the point he can’t think about anything (which should not have been a difficult task considering his diminished tolerance since his trip back to 2005), he ends up staring up at the stars and thinking about Cas.

What was the asshole thinking? You can’t just dump this sort of stuff on a civilian like that. Hell, he’s surprised that Cas didn’t just go all out and tell Sam and Jess both about the apocalypse and time travel and the whole damn thing! Goddamn drunk hippy. Always saying things he shouldn’t and staring. God, the staring. You’d think after a few years of being a human he’d have caught on to the idea that staring at someone for minutes at a time is just freaky. But, no. Dean is always catching him staring with his intense blue eyes…

Dean is suddenly broken from his internal diatribe by the soft rush of rocks sliding against each other coming from the piles of debris. He’s suddenly alert. Dean quietly leverages himself off of the hood of the Impala and carefully sets the bottle of whiskey he had only just started in on onto the ground. Then, he smoothly drew the gun he had armed himself with out of the trunk (his usual weapon were still lying on Sam’s coffee table, and man was he regretting that right now…).

He could hear the crunch of shoes shuffling through sand and rocks coming from the general location as the first sound. Dean made his way in that direction, carefully not making the same sounds he was tracking. He was about to round a large piece of concrete shot through with rebar when he heard a thump against it and abandoned stealth to quickly round the slab. He brought his gun up and was about to pull the trigger on the croat he was tracking when he suddenly realized that he was not looking at a blood-thirsty zombie but two terrified teenagers who had been pretty deep into a make-out session.

Dean looked into their terrified eyes and opened his mouth to explain, but realized he didn’t have a good explanation for his behavior that didn’t involve time travel and the zombie apocalypse. He slowly lowered his gun and held his hands up in an unthreatening manner before backing away from the girls slowly. Once he had rounded the slab of concrete and was out of their sight, he turned and quickly walked back to the Impala and drove away without even grabbing the whiskey he had set down to track what his mind had told him was a dangerous enemy but had just turned out to be two kids doing what kids do.

Dean slammed his hands down on the steering wheel. What the hell was that?! Cas may have no social skills or verbal filter, but at least he hasn’t drawn a gun on children yet. Dean pulled over to the side of the road when he realized he was shaking. He ran his hands through his hair, and the bristle feeling of the short strands served to ground him a bit. He slowly lowered his forehead to the steering wheel and continued to run his hands through his hair. He sat like that for what he thought was five minutes or so, but, when he finally looked up, he saw that it had actually been about an hour. But, at least he wasn’t shaking any more.

After another 20 minutes just breathing, he was finally calm enough to drive back to Sam’s apartment. It was now four in the morning. He’s proud of himself for realizing that he shouldn’t go up to the apartment and knock on the door. So, instead, he hunkers down to spend the night in the Impala—it’s not as if it was the first time, or even the 50th time he had done it, he’d be fine. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

*Knock knock knock*

Dean startled awake when someone—Cas, of course, knocked on the window his head was leaning against.

“What the hell, man?! You almost gave me a heart attack!”

Cas just looked at him, for entirely too long, before replying, “If you’d rather, next time I’ll just open the door and let you spill out onto the road. I’m sure that would be a much more pleasant way to wake up.”

“Or, and I’m just spit balling here, you could open one of the three doors I’m NOT leaning against…”

Cas thought for a moment. “Yeah, I guess that would have worked, too. Sorry.”

Dean really wasn’t up for another fight after everything that had happened last night, so he decided to take apology at face value. “What time is it, anyway?”

“Almost six. Jess has class at eight, so she wanted to talk before that,” Cas replied.

Dean groaned and ran his hand over his eyes. He hadn’t even been asleep for two hours. Cas just stared down at him without sympathy as he leveraged himself out of the car and onto the sidewalk. 

“Lead the way,” Dean said with a gesture indicating the apartment building.

Cas sighed and started forward. He didn’t look back at Dean as they walked up the three flights of stairs to get to Sam and Jess’ apartment. In fact, he didn’t acknowledge Dean’s presence until they were standing outside of the door when he whirled around suddenly, not giving Dean time to react which resulted in them standing entirely closer than is socially acceptable.

“I thought about what you said. You were out of line in the way you said it, but you were right. I shouldn’t have dropped that on Jess like that. I talked to Sam and I understand how in a world in which the supernatural is not commonplace it would be a shock to someone’s worldview. However, that does NOT mean that you have the right to treat me like a subordinate. I believe I’ve mentioned this once or twice already, but perhaps this time it will stick: you are no longer the leader of a militia. I am not a soldier under your command. We are equals, and I expect you to treat me as such,” Cas emphasized his last point with a sharp jab of his finger in Dean’s chest.

Dean stared down at that finger, closed his eyes, and took a deep, steadying breath. It was too goddam early for this. But, Cas was right.

“Yeah, you’re right. I’m still going to call you out on being an asshole when you are one, but I’ll try to be a bit more diplomatic about it—at least when other people are around. If we’re going to convince Sam and Jess they should trust us and our plan we really should present a united front.”

Cas, still entirely too close, continued to stare into Dean’s eyes. He didn’t seem too happy about Dean’s answer, but it must have been good enough for the moment because he nodded his head sharply before turning and opening the door to the apartment.

Dean stood in the hall for a moment collecting his wits before following Cas into the apartment, and right into a cloud of smoke. For a moment he panicked and thought they were too late—that something about their trip through time had messed up the timeline and Jess was burning on the ceiling as he and Cas had had their conversation in the hallway. Then he noticed that the smoke was coming from the kitchen, not the bedroom. He turns in that direction, prepared for the worst.

Jess grins (with just a hint of mania) and asks, “Who wants pancakes?”


End file.
